


Wax Wings (Icarus Flew)

by VisceralViscaria



Series: Fly a Middle Course [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, Child Death, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, a bunch of mind palace stuff, bag swap au, hannibal is kind of creepy i guess, teeth trauma, this is not cute, uhhhhhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-02-21 18:24:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2478068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisceralViscaria/pseuds/VisceralViscaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I believe you have something of mine."</i>
</p>
<p><i>	Bewildered, he thought back to their only encounter. The only way he could've taken</i> anything <i>was if he'd pick pocketed him, and he definitely hadn't done</i> that<i>. Will was about to tell him he'd made a mistake when he glanced to the bed mid-stride. He couldn't have taken anything unless.... Oh no. </i></p>
<p>  <i>"Your bag."</i></p>
<p>---</p>
<p>When Will bumps into a stranger at the airport, he gets a lot more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Excuse Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second fic ever and my first time writing as Hannibal, so I'll just go ahead and apologize. I actually only started this to break my writer's block over the fluff fic I _meant_ to write... oops? Other people would probably make a bag swap au cute or fun. Instead I did this. I haven't planned this one out like I usually do, so it'll probably take even _longer_ to write unfortunately. ~~~ means this is Will's POV, *** means it'll be Hannibal's. I welcome comments and critique! My beta is the lovely [howishughdancyevenpossible](http://howishughdancyevenpossible.tumblr.com/). Thank you for helping with plot holes and chapter titles! If you're reading this, you're the best! I'll probably make small changes to this at a later time.

~~~

 

            Will's heart pounded in his ears as he ran through the airport at a brisk jog, black duffle bag bouncing at each step where it was slung over his shoulder. He weaved in and out of the crowd as he went, nearly colliding with several people as he struggled to slip through the gaps with a large bag in hand and another at his back. More than once he'd had to mumble an apology. Even with irate voices rising behind him, he didn't dare to meet anyone's eyes or stop long enough to turn back.

 

            In ten minutes he would officially miss his flight.

 

            Again, he found himself cursing his rotten luck. If Jack hadn't been so insistent that he come along he would've gladly stayed home. But when the Washington PD called the FBI to report a homicide with an MO identical to The Dentist's, he'd been hell-bent on dragging Will along with him. Never mind that Will had seven dogs, a teaching position, and a life outside of work. He was Jack's show horse, expected to be at his beck and call. 

 

            He'd nearly turned him down anyway. 

 

            Instead, Will had asked for an extra day to get things settled with his substitute and find a place to stay for his dogs. Now he would be arriving in Carnation a day later than the rest of the team. Which meant that it was his responsibility to get there in time to catch his flight. He'd been warned that if he missed it, the FBI wouldn't shoulder any of the blame. So naturally the universe had decided that this was the perfect morning to acquaint him with Murphy's Law.

 

            Even before he'd opened his eyes, Will knew. Something was off. 

 

            Cracking an eye, he'd taken inventory while his sluggish brain fumbled its way back to the living. 

 

            At a glance, nothing seemed out of place or unusual. His sheets were soaked with sweat, though maybe not as much as they normally were. His shelves were the way he'd left them, lined with rows of books and various pictures or knick-knacks. The chairs were clear of occupants and unmoved. His dogs lounged in a pile by the space-heater in the fireplace. Winston lifted his head from his paws where he looked up from the edge. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, casting the room in soft shades where it reflected off of the pale green walls and hard wood floor. Everything was fine, and exactly as he'd left it. If anything this morning was already off to a better start than most.

 

            Then it hit him. Sunlight.

 

            He'd scrambled up, surprising the dogs, and groped around for his alarm clock. Holding it up to his face, he blinked at it in dismay. The numbers, ordinarily glowing a faint green, were frozen and dull. 12:23 AM. Its batteries had died.

 

            And he was going to miss his flight.

 

            Will stood and thumped up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He still had to drop off the pack at Alana's. That left him around twenty minutes to get everything together before he absolutely had to go. As he burst into the bathroom, he thanked any higher power willing to listen that he'd remembered to pack his bags the night before.

 

            Now he was sprinting through the terminal, eyes scanning the area for any sign of his gate. To his annoyance, his would be the one farthest from the entrance and take the most time to reach. Will glanced down to check his watch.

 

            And smacked into someone, almost bouncing off of the other's more solid frame. Both of their bags dropped to the floor as the stranger's hands rose to grip his arms and steady him. 

 

            Glancing up in shock, the first thing he noticed was plaid. Then he took in the lines of a three piece suit. This man was wearing a tailored suit that probably cost more than his house and he had chosen _plaid._ His eyes landed on a paisley tie next. Paisley and plaid. It should've looked ridiculous, but somehow the man pulled it off and did it well. His bearing was one of confidence and surety. Will tried and failed to avoid absorbing some of his serenity.

 

            Then his hands came to his attention, still curled around his shoulders. Their grip was strong, yet he applied only enough pressure to keep him upright. He could feel nimble fingers through the fabric of his flannel and wondered at their dexterity. A surgeon's hands. That had yet to let him go.

 

            Embarrassed, Will quickly stepped back. Eyes never leaving the Windsor knot of the stranger's tie, he scooped both of their bags off the ground and held the man's out to him. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

 

            "I believe I am fine." The accented voice came as a surprise, but he didn't think much of it as the man accepted his bag with a quiet thank you. 

 

            Will nodded to him and checked his watch, not forgetting how pressed he was for time. "Excuse me." He gently brushed past him, hesitating before angling himself to look back. "Sorry again." Will braced himself and pushed back into the hustling throng.

 

***

 

            Hannibal had thought of seven recipes by the time the other man's retreating back had been fully swallowed up by the crowd. 

 

            However, most if not all of them had come to mind before he'd delivered his sincere apology. He had practically radiated anxiety, the tension he'd felt in his shoulders indicating high levels of stress. Though he had seen him coming and could've easily stepped out of his way, Hannibal hadn't expected him to look away and run into him straight on. This man, whoever he was, was lucky to have remembered his manners. Something about airports always seemed to make people so very _rude_.

 

            Even so, this minor setback hadn't been anywhere near enough to spoil his good mood. Returning to his home would be more than enough to wash away the frustrations that had clung to him all day.

 

            When he'd agreed to attend the psychiatric convention in California, he hadn't expected himself to grow so bored. As he had flown in, he was unable to bring much in the way of food and held himself to a strict rule of not hunting in unfamiliar areas. An entire week of subpar cuisine had left him far less patient with others than he might have been otherwise. 

 

            Of course, none of this was reflected in his appearance, but a number of Sacramento citizens would never know just how close they had come to earning a place at his table. As it was, Hannibal found himself looking forward to flicking through his rolodex once he had settled in.

 

            Straightening out, he adjusted his bags and prepared to make his way to the nearest exit. Then stopped in surprise.

 

            After a moment's consideration, he found that one bag was lighter than it should have been. Hannibal thought back to the man from before. Perhaps he would have to invite him to dinner after all.


	2. Show Me Your Teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright here's where the violence starts coming in. Warnings for teeth pulling, evisceration, and minor mentions of eye trauma. The chapter title comes from Lady Gaga's _Teeth_ , a song that is completely unrelated to the plot. :')

~~~

 

            The door slammed into the wall where he shouldered it open with more force than necessary. He couldn't find the energy to care as he shuffled into the cheap motel room, trying unsuccessfully to juggle both his bags and the files in his hands. Finally squeezing through, Will stumbled over to the bed and dropped the bags onto the thin mattress, steel springs squealing under their weight. He watched as they sank in with dread, knowing that he was likely to do the same if he got any time to sleep.

 

            Jack had stormed over the second he'd pulled into the motel's driveway. Will hadn't even opened the door before he'd signaled for him to roll down his window. His boss leaned in with an expression even stonier than the one he usually wore. "Will."

 

            He inclined his head, hands tightening where they gripped the steering wheel. "Jack." Will'd been hoping he would get a chance to at least _see_ his room before being hauled off to work on the case, but it was obvious that Jack had other plans. He sighed and ran a hand across his face, easing into the comfortable groove he'd worn into his Volvo's seat. "Where?"

 

            Leaning back, Jack rested a gloved hand on his roof and tucked the other into the pocket of his thick wool coat. "Local PD found James and Charlotte Irwin in their homes after a neighbor called in a burglary. We're still at the scene. Just follow me." He thumped his hand twice before turning to his car. Will rolled the window up and did his best to mentally prepare himself for the carnage he was sure to find. He was going to need it.

 

            The drive didn't take very long, especially when compared to the distances he'd had to travel before. It couldn't, really. While Carnation wasn't the stereotypical small town, it wasn't exactly a sprawling suburb either. They passed by gas stations and storefronts dotting both sides of broad streets. The skies were open here. Less trees to clutter the horizon where far off mountains loomed. It was probably beautiful on sunny days, but now he could see heavy gray clouds rolling in with the promise of rain. What blue there was clashed with the criss-crossing telephone lines overhead. Overall, Carnation seemed like a close-knitt, sleepy town where the worst thing that could possibly happen was a car crash.

 

            But appearances could and did deceive, and Will had learned that the hard way. Somewhere in this town a monster watched them grieve.

 

            The Dentist. So aptly named for what he did to teeth. Originally a robber targeting couples with no children, he had terrorized Missouri long before he made his first kill. 

 

            And Will knew it _had_ been his first. Too sloppy for the careful planning he'd shown 'til then. What began as a routine robbery became a murder when he was interrupted by the wife. The husband was killed when he woke. It read of panic, of improvisation, of a simple in-and-out burglary gone terribly wrong. But he hadn't stopped there, no, not once he'd gotten a _taste_ for it. At the next house, he'd prioritized the kill, brought his own tools. Once husband and wife were dead, he'd pulled their teeth out with needle-nose pliers and left them where they'd fallen in their laps.

 

            Things only got worse from there. Now every house hit meant another two bodies. The teeth were removed while they were still alive. And he was getting creative with them. In one case he had stuck them back into the opposite mouths. The last time he had put out the woman's eyes with the man's teeth and forced him to watch. 

 

            The Dentist was on the move as well. The trail of bodies stretched from Missouri to Nebraska to Wyoming as he steadily marched northwest. But the case had gone cold, and he'd last struck three months ago. With a killer as unpredictable as this, there was no telling where or when he would strike again. Now that he'd reappeared, it was crucial that they find something to go on before he picked up his roots and moved on. Which meant that Jack would be ridding his ass twice as hard on this one. Will couldn't really blame him for it.

 

            They finally pulled up in front of a quaint two story home, the driveway already packed with vans and cars. Will stepped out into the misty air, wishing he'd brought a jacket as the cold vapor clung to his skin. He watched in silence as a swarm of police officers and CSIs picked their way through the house and the lawn, sidestepping each other as they rushed to do their jobs before the bottom fell out of the storm clouds and washed evidence away. It reminded him of looking down at a nest of ants before it rained, of knowing they would drown. That train of thought somehow made him uncomfortable, so he turned his attention to the house itself.

 

            It looked just like the others, a perfect fit with those The Dentist had targeted before. One garage. A well kept lawn. Two small gardens, one with flowers by the mailbox, the other with vegetables near the porch. Grey stones had been pressed into the dirt, forming a path leading from the house to the street. Off to the side, a white archway led into the back yard where a shed painted the same powder blue as the house peaked through the bough of a tree. An average house, if on the upper end of the scale.

 

            If it weren't for all the crime scene tape, he would've never thought to look for the signs of a homicide.

 

            Just then Beverly Katz stepped outside, making a beeline for him once he'd been spotted. She was followed by Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller, who were still bickering even after they'd ducked beneath the outermost layer of yellow tape and stopped in front of him as a group. Will only caught the tail end of their conversation as they approached.

 

            "-and I'm saying that they _will_." Jimmy placed a hand on his hip and gave Brian a look that dared him to raise a challenge.

 

            Brian clearly wasn't going down without a fight. "Come on, it'll take _way_ more time before humans stop growing wisdom teeth." His hands also came to rest on his hips, but it didn't have the same effect.

 

            "People are already being born with some missing! Bev, what do you think-" He turned and was surprised to find that their audience had grown by one. "Will! When did you get here?"

 

            Will tried to smile at him, but thought it came off as more of grimace. "You came to me, actually."

 

            "So you heard me tell Brian how wrong he is."

 

            "Hey! If _anyone's_ wrong-"

 

            Beverly's dark eyes sparkled with mischief as she turned to them. "Knock it off you two! He just got here." She grew more serious as her voice dropped to a murmur. "And he's got more important things to worry about." Her eyes scanned his face after turning back to him. "Hey, Will."

 

            "Hey, Beverly." He nodded toward the house. "Bad in there?"

 

            Her furrowed brow said more than anything. "Yeah, it's pretty bad. They're upstairs in the bedroom. Signs of a struggle. We haven't been able to move the bodies, but there are ligature marks on the wrists consistent with The Dentist's MO."

 

            Jimmy piped up. "We did find some skin under the wife's fingernails."

 

            Well that was something. So far they hadn't been able to find a single trace of DNA aside from blood splatter where he'd been punched while fighting the first husband.

 

            Brian decided to chime in. "Yeah, but that won't do us much good until we've narrowed down the suspects. Or found a suspect. Either one." He shrugged, looking over to Will. "I guess that's where you come in."

 

            "Which is why he should be _inside_ looking at the crime scene." 

 

            Jack's voice startled all of them as it rose over his shoulder. They turned to find him standing at Will's back with his arms crossed, frowning in disapproval. Under his watchful eyes, the team passed by, Beverly giving him one last reassuring smile. Jack moved to stand beside him, staring up into the darkened windows of the house just as he'd done before. "Are you ready?"

 

            _No._  

 

            "As ready as I can be."

 

            With a stiff nod, Jack led him up the driveway to the door. As they stepped over the threshold, Will noted that it had been kicked in, hanging sadly on its hinges. He continued to read the little things while following Jack up the stairs. 

 

            Random items were scattered across the floor were they'd fallen to the ground. An armchair had toppled over in the living room, the glass coffee table shattered into pieces. Things large and small were missing here, a strange emptiness filling the space where something should've been. A few rectangles on the wall slightly brighter than the paint around them told him that framed photos hadn't been spared from the thievery. They had to step around a bloodied statuette resting at the foot of the stairs. Will paused to look into the kitchen once he'd reached the top. More CSIs were taking photos of two chairs placed directly across from each other, giant pools of dried blood beneath them.

 

            A door was open at the end of the hall. He waited outside while Jack cleared the room, pressing to the wall as personnel with tool boxes of equipment squeezed by. Jack appeared in the doorway and waited for the last one to leave. "It's all yours, Will." 

 

            He nodded, carefully studying the old beige carpet as he slipped his glasses off his face and into his pocket. Satisfied, Jack moved to stand by the stairs where he would hear him if he called. Will braced himself and stepped in.

 

            James and Charlotte Irwin were propped up in bed. Blood ran down their chins where their mouths hung open, a detail he'd become unfortunately familiar with. Even from here, he could see that they had no teeth.

 

            But he knew where they'd gone. Both had been eviscerated, their ropy intestines pooled in their hands where they rested on top of the sheets. Bits of white bone stuck out in random places wherever they had been cruelly shoved in. For the Irwins' sake, he hoped they'd been dead long before then. The slit throats seemed to support his theory. Like a second smile, the curved gashes split their necks from ear to ear. Will drifted closer, searching their wrists for the ligature marks Beverly had mentioned earlier. He found them easily enough. While the Irwins' legs were hidden beneath their blankets, he was willing to bet the same thing had been done to their ankles.

 

            He'd seen all he needed to see. Closing his eyes, he stepped back from the bed and waited. In his mind, the golden pendulum swung. 

 

            Once _. Teeth popped out where they dug in and flew back into James and Charlotte's waiting mouths. The unraveled intestines slid into their proper coils as the Irwins' abdomens sealed behind them. Blood flowed in reverse as torn skin knit itself together at their throats._

Twice _. The bodies straightened, looking slightly fresher than they had been, and then disappeared as he walked backwards through the door. The statuette, now clean, leapt up to settle in its proper place on a side table in the foyer. Missing photos of the couple reappeared alongside whatever valuables The Dentist had deemed worthy of taking. The coffee table reformed while the armchair flipped up onto its feet. In the kitchen, pools of blood shrank and disappeared as chairs were drug back to their place at the dining table by an invisible hand. The front door picked itself up and closed behind him on his way out. He stood in the driveway, eyes closed as he faced the house._

Thrice _. When his eyes fluttered open, he was no longer Will Graham._

_Fast, so dangerously fast, he reached the door and forced it open, bursting in without a single trace of caution. "I kick the door in, unconcerned about the noise. I know that it doesn't matter. The Irwins have no security system. I've watched the house, and I've learned all of their routines. By this time of night, they'll be upstairs in bed."_

_He began moving through the lower level, greedy eyes already picking out the things he would take. He'd just entered the living room when he heard a man's voice from the stairs. "The husband arrives first. This does not concern me. I know I can overpower him, can overpower_ both _of them." Will turned to watch as James Irwin ran into the living room, tackling him back into the armchair which dumped them both onto the floor. James sat on top of him and tried to throw a punch, but he'd learned his lesson the first time and grabbed him by the wrist. Rolling, he switched places with him and pulled him to his feet, throwing him onto the coffee table and watching it shatter beneath his weight. Will grinned down at him, loving the way his eyes widened with fear. "I let James realize just how helpless he is."_

_James jumped up and sprinted back the way he came. "Just as I let him try to run." He followed along after giving him a few seconds head start, catching up with him at the foot of the stairs. Wrapping a strong arm around his waist, he pulled him away from them with ease. Or so he'd thought. James managed to land a blow with his elbow, forcing Will to let him go as he doubled over and gasped for air. By the time he'd straightened out again he had a foot on the lowest stair. His eye landed on the statuette, and he quickly lurched forward before James could go any further. Taking it in hand, he swung down hard on the back of his head. Mr. Irwin crumpled to the floor without a sound. Panting heavily, Will dropped the statuette and stared down at the motionless heap._

_"James gives me more trouble than expected." He knelt down beside him, feeling for a pulse. "I make sure he's still alive. If he dies now, then this is more than a miscalculation. It will ruin all of my plans." His heartbeat fluttered beneath his fingertips. "I'm pleased to find he hasn't."_

_Will curled his hands around James' upper arms and drug him into the kitchen, laying him on the linoleum before pulling two high-backed chairs away from the table and setting them across from each other in the middle of the room. He then reached into a pocket and took out two lengths of rope. Once James had been positioned in the seat to his right, his skilled fingers tied the ropes around his wrists and ankles, binding him in place. "I have come prepared. James is subdued without trouble. I already know from experience that he will be unable to escape." He paced before him, scrutinizing his work._

_Finally satisfied, he fell into the opposite chair and swung one leg over the other. "There is one more occupant in the house. She will come down to investigate. All I have to do is wait." Will eyed the second floor, watching for any sign of movement. But after two minutes, then three, then five passed and still nothing happened, he became impatient and rose from his seat. "I see now that waiting isn't going to work. No matter. If Charlotte won't come to me, then I'll just have to go to her." He took the stairs._

_The door to their room was shut, but not locked. As the handle turned against his palm, he cautiously peered inside. The room was empty. Will pushed through and stood at the foot of the bed. "At first I think Charlotte has somehow managed to escape." A small rustling sounded to his right. He cocked his head to the side and listened with a smile. "But now I know better." Silently, he stooped down and lifted the edge of the blanket. His hand darted forward and wrapped around a pale ankle, dragging the wife out from under the bed. Her shrill screams were grating and annoying. Luckily, after he'd finished with her she wouldn't be able to make a peep._

_He pinned her in his arms and lifted her off her feet, wrangling her out of the room and down the stairs as she struggled. Again, when he reached the first floor things went wrong. Her nails raked across his arm like cat's claws. Hissing, he flung Charlotte into the wall. Just like her husband, she tried to run, but he was done playing games. A swift punch to the face knocked her to the floor. Will let her lie there for a moment before yanking her up by the hair and steering her into the kitchen. This time she went without protest, though she stiffened at the sight of her husband. Two more ropes left his pocket and Charlotte was bound._

_Now came the fun._

_To his delight, James had woken up by the time he was through. As he yelled to him, Will slid another chair out and twirled it around on one leg, straddling it as he sat backward with a hand propping up his head. "Who are you? What do you want from us?!" At the same time, Charlotte had begun to babble pleas, tears streaming down her face. "Please, take whatever you want, just don't hurt us, please, please..." His only response was to take out the pliers. She broke into hysterics as he stared at her, a litany of 'oh god's falling from her tongue. "I begin with the wife."_

_He stood and moved his seat until he was sitting right in front of Charlotte. His hand came up to grip her chin and force her mouth open. As the pliers closed around the first tooth, she let out a wordless shout. By the time he'd reached the molars at the back, she was too busy trying not to drown on her own blood to make a sound. Soon all thirty two bloodied teeth laid in the rumpled folds of her nightgown. Will wiped the metal on her sleeve, ignoring the pitiful moans gurgling from her mouth. "I remove each tooth, taking care to drop them into Mrs. Irwin's lap. I'll be needing them later." He turned his attention to the husband._

_In much the same way, James and his teeth were separated. They gleamed in the kitchen's dim bulbs, wet with red-tinged saliva. He strode to stand between husband and wife and studied his work with pride. "I revel in the Irwins' fear and pain as I remove their teeth. I keep them alive, and enjoy forcing them to see how ugly they become. This is my design."_

_Will watched over them as they squirmed in agony for a few more minutes before growing bored again. It was time to finish this._

_First he scooped the teeth out of their laps and placed them on the countertop. Then he examined the kitchen and found what he'd been looking for; a woodblock with several black knife handles jutting out. Pulling one from the block, he circled around to stand behind Charlotte. Across from him, James showed what amounted to token resistance one last time as he drug the blade through her neck. He slumped over in his chair and didn't rise again even as the same was done to him. "The Irwins are dead." Will slid the teeth off the counter and into his pocket before he knelt and worked at James' bindings. He caught him in his arms as the body fell forward. "All that's left to do is arrange them."_

_It was easy to lug both corpses up the stairs, depositing them in their bed. He propped up the pillows and leaned them back against them, pulling the blankets over their legs and into their laps. Their fingers were woven together, hands cupped in preparation for the burden they'd be asked to hold. Using the same knife as before, he cleanly sliced both abdomens and gently tugged on the organs until they spilled out into their waiting hands. Fishing around in his pocket, he pulled out the Irwins' mingled teeth and began jamming them into the supple skin of their intestines, feeling it give under the pointed roots of bone. His task was finally complete. He rose, wiping his bloodied hands on their sheets, and left the room without a backward glance._

_Now he could freely wander through the home. He combed through each room, taking whatever he liked. There was no rush and no remorse. After all, they wouldn't be needing any of it anymore._

            Will exited his trance with a gasp, eyes flying open as shudders raced down his spine. "Jack." He fumbled his glasses out of his shirt pocket and perched them on the bridge of his nose, listening as his boss' heavy steps came down the hall.

 

            "Will." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jack fill the doorway. "Tell me you've got something for me. Is this our guy?"

 

            He smiled bitterly, wishing he could push past Jack and leave the room. "Yeah, this is The Dentist."

 

            Jack crossed his arms and leaned against the frame, clearly hemming him in. "What do you know." He leveled a scrutinizing look at him, as though he thought he'd be able to look straight through him and see their killer. If only it could be that easy.

 

            "I know more about him than I did before." Sighing, he drifted over to the wall and pressed his back against it, staring down at his shoes. "We're looking for a young male, mid to late twenties. Someone with a lot of brute strength. After killing once, he just couldn't let it go. He wants to feel powerful, to feel that control again." He remembered the thrill he'd felt, having their lives in his hands and making the decision to _take_.

 

            Jack wore a small frown as he listened. "We already knew all of that. I need more, Will."

 

            _I've_ got _more if you'll give me a chance to find it._ That rebellious thought was held back as he concentrated on pushing his budding headache away. Will dug through his memory, making connections as he watched his reconstruction play back like an old film reel. "...the teeth. There's something wrong with his teeth, or - or there used to be, and-" He swallowed dryly, his mind finally latching onto the missing piece. "His parents abused him for it. That's it, Jack. This is revenge."

 

            "Revenge?" Jack eyed him from the door as he stood, digging his fingers into his curls. "None of the victims had children, had connections to children, or connections to each other."

 

            Will shook his head, agitated, and began to pace. "It's not _them_. It's what they represent. When The Dentist looks at these couples, these houses, he's seeing his childhood home. An only child, average, middle class family, two parents. He's getting revenge on mom and dad, robbing them because he thinks he's taking what they owe. He wants to take it all from them, the power they held over him before he knew how to fight back."

 

            Eyes shining, Jack leaned forward. "Well he sure knows how to fight back now. Why haven't the parents been found? Did he kill them, hide the bodies this time?"

 

            "No." Frowning, he stalled, mulling it over. His eyes fell closed as his brain chased what started as a tiny flicker, then burst into a small spark. He wondered aloud more for Jack's benefit than his own. "He wanted to, though. But he wasn't strong enough, not yet, and by the time he was they were already gone. He never got his closure. All his preparation was for nothing. All that bottled up shame and humiliation from boyhood turned into rage with nowhere to go. So he let it out a little bit at a time, started small, but then he killed the Jones and it felt too _good_." 

 

            Will opened his eyes and locked them onto the grey buttons of Jack's coat. "We're looking for someone physically strong, with a job flexible enough to let him travel. Try construction workers, handy men, landscapers. Something that takes muscle. The Dentist, he's cocky, over confident. He's been getting away with so much that he thinks he's invincible. He'll make a mistake, and soon. We're going to catch him this time." At the first hint of Jack's smile, Will held up a hand in warning. "But things'll get a whole lot worse before we do. Jack, he's escalating. And he's not going to stop unless we force him to."

 

            A look of bleak determination etched its way onto Jack's features. "Then that's what we're going to do." He finally pushed off of the doorframe and turned his back to Will. "Good work. We've got a lot more to go on than we did before." Without telling him to follow, he walked down the hall.

 

            Will came along anyway, accepting his words for the almost-thanks that they were. They passed through the rest of the house without trouble and he soon found himself on the porch, watching water drip down from the roof. Apparently it had started to rain while they were inside. Will had no idea how long they'd been there, but as he stared out over a sea of crime scene tape and blue tarps put in place to block the sheets of water pouring from the sky, it didn't really matter to him. He was tired, and he wanted to go home, even if his 'home' right now was a motel room.

 

            Just then he noticed Beverly waving them over through the window of a van. "Jack." He gestured to her with a hand. They both dashed over through the rain and slid inside as Brian opened the door. They settled into their seats while it was shut behind them.

 

            Beverly twisted around to face them in the driver's seat. "Anything new?"

 

            "Will thinks The Dentist has or had something wrong with his teeth and was abused by his parents for it as a child. Strong guy in his twenties. He's got a job that lets him move."

 

            "He's still new in town." Will rested his head against the window, feeling his curls stick lightly to the condensation, and hoped that the cold would ease the dull throb slowly growing behind his eyes. "Hasn't had time to blend in. Probably won't risk drawing our attention by leaving right after we've arrived."

 

            "We've got time to find him then." Jack turned to face the front. "Alright, we're going back to the motel." As he barked out the command, Will jumped out and ran to his car while Jack slipped around to the passenger seat.

 

            The drive back was the same as it was before, if gloomier. By the time they finally made it inside, everyone was thoroughly soaked. Will slipped his glasses off and rubbed them on his shirt as Jack spoke with the manager at the front desk, hoping to clear away the stubborn drops obscuring his vision. He watched Jack tromp back over to them through the freshly cleaned glass.

 

            "There's a conference room down the hall. Follow me."

 

            They ended up staying there for the rest of the day. With Will's profile, they began gathering information on people who were new to town and fit it. Huge stacks of paper balanced precariously on the edges of the large table in the center of the room, pages turning and the occasional question the only sources of sound.

 

            Will was halfway through his third stack when a black cup of steaming coffee appeared by his elbow. Glancing up, he murmured his thanks to Jimmy as he passed by and transferred mugs from his arms to his hands to the tabletops in front of everyone. He'd finished both the stack and the cup before noticing that it was getting dark outside. A quick peek at his watch told him that it was already ten.

 

            He pushed his chair back and stood, weaving his fingers together and stretching. Will turned to Jack and waited for him to look up. "I need to get my bags up to the room."

 

            With a nod, he flicked his eyes back down to the documents in front of him. "Take some of these up with you."

 

            Will scooped up as many folders and loose sheets as he thought he could safely carry with his luggage. The odds of him sleeping more than a few hours were slim, and he welcomed the distraction. Even better if it meant he could speed up the investigation.

 

            By the time he'd stepped out into the cool night air, the rain was gone. The scent lingered in the air, joined by a symphony of insect calls. His shoes somehow managed to grip the wet pavement as he found his way to his car. Temporarily setting the papers in the backseat, he popped the trunk and slid one duffle onto his shoulder, pushing his wrist through the straps of the other. Will managed to shift everything in his arms and shut the back door. The sound echoed through the nearly empty parking lot.

 

            He surprised himself by making it back inside and into the elevator without dropping anything. His streak of luck ran out as he faced the door to his room. The room key was in his front pocket. And none of his hands were free. After a solid minute of fumbling, he wrestled it out for just long enough to swipe it across the scanner and sighed in relief as he was rewarded with a small beep and a green dot of light.

           

            Will made it through the door and dropped his bags, still clinging to his armful of files. He set them down onto a small desk tucked into a back corner, kicking his shoes off by the wall. Then he paused in indecision. Though he knew he should've unpacked his bags or at least showered, Will found that the only thing he felt up to doing was closing this case. So he pulled out the chair, its legs scraping across the carpet, and settled in for a long night.

 

            He was completely absorbed by the time his phone rang. Will slipped it from his jeans and stared at it with curiosity. He could count the number of people with his number on one hand and four of them were two floors down. The number wasn't one he recognized either. Cautiously, he pressed it to his ear and answered, fearing that it might be Alana having trouble with his dogs and borrowing a phone. "...hello?"

 

            "Hello, is this Will Graham speaking?"

 

            The deep, accented voice that caressed his ear was definitely not Alana's, yet still felt somewhat familiar. Where had he heard it before? "Yes, that would be me." He finally remembered the man from the airport as he introduced himself.

 

            "Excellent. I am Doctor Hannibal Lecter."

 

            Will decided to take a break and stood, wincing as his joints popped. He rubbed at his neck gingerly and paced in front of the bed. "Doctor?" He remembered his hands. Maybe he was a surgeon after all.

 

            Dr. Lecter sounded amused as he answered. "A psychiatrist."

 

            To say that Will was less than thrilled would be an understatement. Psychiatrists only called when they wanted something from him. He braced himself for an invitation to a research facility or study group and was completely caught off guard as the doctor continued.

 

            "I believe you have something of mine."

 

            Bewildered, he thought back to their only encounter. The only way he could've taken _anything_ was if he'd pick pocketed him, and he definitely hadn't done _that_. Will was about to tell him he'd made a mistake when he glanced to the bed mid-stride. He couldn't have taken anything unless.... Oh no. 

 

            "Your bag." He glared down at the duffle in question with grim surprise. They must've swapped bags when he'd picked them up and handed Dr. Lecter's back to him. It figured that something like this would happen when he tried being helpful.

 

            Dr. Lecter must have picked up on his dampened mood. "I take it that you had not realized?"

 

            "No, not until just now." Will sat heavily on the bed with a silent sigh. He didn't know how he'd missed it. It'd felt heavier earlier, but he'd thought he was just tired. Now that he was sitting right next to it and actually paying attention he could see that this duffle was much nicer than his own. "I'm so sorry." He remembered his rough treatment of the bag with a wince. "Is there anything fragile in it?"

 

            "Nothing like that. I must admit, I am pleased to know you hadn't opened it yet."

 

            _But you must have opened mine._ For the first time he thought to ask how this stranger had contacted him in the first place. "How did you get my number?" He padded back over to the desk in his sock feet and shifted some of the papers around, waiting for his answer as he let himself slip into the killer's mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually came up with The Dentist after reading a tumblr post about a reverse tooth fairy. The world is a strange place.


	3. Hunger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second time writing as Hannibal, so I welcome critique! I am not a chef and I'm pretty much useless in the kitchen unless you want something microwaved or scrambled eggs, so if you see any mistakes please, _please_ tell me. Similarly, I'm unfamiliar with murder, so if you see room for improvement... I won't judge...

            ***

 

            Hannibal cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder, listening to the quiet rustling of paper as he stared down at the man strapped to his table. He lightly trailed the dull edge of a bloodied scalpel over his cheek, watching with satisfaction as he squirmed and tugged futilely against thick leather restraints, and considered the question.

 

            Coming back from the airport had been a test of his patience. While he was not particularly angry, there was no denying his displeasure. Hannibal could have forgiven the man for bumping into him, seeing as he had apologized, but he could not forgive him for taking his bag. Or more specifically, its contents. The mere thought of a stranger rifling through it and stumbling upon something so precious to him had his hands white knuckled on the steering wheel.

 

            He eyed the man's bag where it sat in the passenger seat with disdain, nose wrinkling at the strong smell of dog. It had been difficult to resist the temptation of opening it the moment he had discovered the mistake, but he preferred to wait until he had resources at hand to track down this new addition to his next sounder. By the time he had pulled into his driveway his temper had calmed. 

 

            His house was exactly as he'd left it, elegant and immaculate with everything arranged in just the right way for him to feel that he was home. Hannibal passed through the richly decorated interior, pausing in the foyer by the door to hang up his coat. While he still wanted to comb through the other man's black duffle, there were more important things to be done before he could truly settle back into his home. It could wait.

 

            All of the bags were carried up the stairs to his bedroom on the second floor and deposited on the silken sheets of his king sized bed. Though the man's bag had been brought up as well, it didn't join them there and was sat on the carpet at the foot of the bed instead, largely because the coarse material was covered in dog hair. He chose ignore it for now in favor of unpacking his things, or at least the ones that had made it back with him.

 

            Zippers were tugged down to reveal a colorful array of neatly folded suits which were quickly returned to their proper place in his closet. Expensive leather shoes joined them on the floor. His toiletries were lifted out next and tucked into the bathroom, filling various spaces on the marble countertop with a few being placed in the medicine cabinet. Finally the suitcases themselves were stowed away, leaving only the bag on the carpet.

 

            Hannibal could already feel himself relaxing as he made his way back down to his kitchen. This room was his pride and joy. Broad countertops gleamed in the light from overhead. The high-end appliances were the most current models on the market, all the better to craft his exquisite five course meals of... unique origins. Though they weren't open, each drawer held neat rows of polished silverware, always thoroughly cleaned. And his knives were of the highest caliber, all edges sharpened to a needle-point and more than capable of cutting through anything he asked of them, be it plant, meat, or bone.

 

            It was incredibly comforting to return to this space, and he moved through it with ease. Crossing the room, he opened the door to his chrome refrigerator and began setting out the ingredients needed to make a simplified rendition of _rognons d'agneau à la Villandry_. Hannibal pursed his lips as he took stock. This time, the kidneys he selected had actually come from a lamb as he hadn't wanted to hunt down any prey before he'd left. He had been gone for an entire week after all. It wouldn't do for the meat to spoil. Hannibal could settle for lamb over his preferred source of _rognons_ , but it was something he planned to remedy very soon. Similarly, the ground pork and bacon were from more banal animals as well.

 

            He removed everything but his slacks and white dress shirt, rolling up the sleeves to his elbows. A pristine white apron was tied around his waist. While he let the oven preheat, he used kitchen scissors to cut into both kidneys and removed the calyx, opening a pocket deep enough to fill with a mixture of the ground pork and various spices. They were then wrapped in strips of bacon and held closed with twine, the white and red contrasting appealingly. He set a roasting pan next to them on the counter and added a thin layer of grease before placing them inside. Around a teaspoon of butter topped each. Hannibal slid the entire thing into the oven to bake.

 

            As it did, he filled a small pot with water and set it to boil. A carrot was placed on a cutting board and cut into thin slices, which he pushed into the pot with his knife. A pinch of spice was thrown in with them. The scraps were set aside to be composted later.

 

            He heated a plate large enough to fit both kidneys and the carrots and left it on the countertop. After putting on oven mitts, he lowered the oven door and lifted the roasting pan, carrying it to the counter after securing the door with a gentle nudge of his knee. The kidneys were transferred to the plate which was set to the side. Hannibal poured the grease out of the pan and into the sink before placing it onto a burner at high heat. He added _marc de Touraine_ and took out a small matchbook. Striking one, he lit a flame in the pan and watched it ignite, the fire dancing and casting off an ocher light. 

 

            Once it finished smoldering, he deglazed the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon. A heavy cream was poured in and brought to a near boil, then left for the moment in favor of attending to the carrots. Hannibal carefully scooped them out and set them at the edge of the plate the kidneys rested on. The remaining water was emptied into his sink. He removed the strings binding the kidneys and dropped them into the trash. Turning his attention back to the pan, he lowered the heat until the cream had thickened into a sauce, lightly stirring in salt and pepper. Finally he turned the burner off and brought the pan the plate, spooning creamy sauce over the meat and watching it pool around them. The roasting pan was left next to the sink to be cleaned later on. 

 

            Gathering a fork and knife, he carried the finished meal into his dining room, letting Barrios' _Vals Op. 8, No. 3_ serenade him as he ate. Hannibal closed his eyes as he took a bite, the balanced flavors bursting over his tongue. He ate slowly and savored each mouthful as he had the first. It was only once he had finished that he allowed himself to recall his troubles, unwilling to spoil the dinner he had made with unneeded tensions. 

 

            The dirtied plate and silverware were returned to the kitchen to be cleaned alongside the pan and pot. As he went through the thoughtless motions, his mind wandered back to the bag upstairs. His lips pressed into a thin line while he scrubbed the bottom of the pot harder than necessary. However, he gave a wicked smile as he thought of possible solutions to the problem. Perhaps it was time for the Chesapeake Ripper to make an appearance. He _did_ need to stock his fridge with meat after all. 

 

            Hannibal began moving the now spotless cookware back where they belonged and mulled over his options. While coming back from the conference, he had already made plans to hunt his next victim, though he hadn't intended to make it a Ripper kill. Should he go through with his original plan or create a new one for this unfortunate stranger?

 

            Drying his hands on a towel, he compared the benefits of each. On one hand, the man had severely wronged him, unintentionally or not. He would be recovering the missing luggage either way, but surely it would be better to do so sooner. His irritation would be fresher as well, promising to yield results of a rather... _artistic_ nature.

 

            On the other hand, he knew more about his previously selected victim. It was largely thanks to painstaking preparation that he had yet to be caught, and he wasn't in the habit of acting impulsively. By giving himself a distraction and time for his emotions to settle, it would be even less likely for him to make a mistake than it usually was. This victim was close by, making him an easier target and more appealing as Hannibal would be hunting in familiar territory.

 

           He poured himself a glass of wine and swirled it beneath his nose, scenting it thoughtfully. Taking a few sips, he walked to where he kept his rolodex of business cards and flicked through it, fingertips lingering on cardboard edges as he remembered why each one had ended up in his hands. He paused as he found the one he'd been looking for, a dark burgundy with sharp white letters listing the information for an employee of a catering company. His nail traced the slightly raised outline of a name. Aaron West.

 

            This man had left a terrible impression and was an inconvenience to those around him, as Hannibal had witnessed firsthand. While attending a dinner party hosted by one of Baltimore's high-society darlings, he had seen him behave horrendously throughout the night. Aaron pushed through the crowd with total disregard for those he had to shove out of his way, even bumping into a favored acquaintance of his and causing her to spill her drink without a backward glance. One of the few times Hannibal had gotten close enough to hear his nasal voice, it had risen to mock him while Aaron thought he was unable to hear. His fate was sealed from then on. It had been all too easy to obtain a business card from one of the pig's friends.

 

            Staring down at it, he made his decision. Hannibal didn't know when the stranger would return. But he knew where Aaron West was now. The card was neatly plucked from where it nestled amongst the rest and slipped into his shirt pocket. Tonight, he would be paying Mr. West a visit.

 

            That settled, he was ready to examine the bag currently waiting in his room. He finished his wine and left the glass in the sink to be dealt with tomorrow. Before climbing the stairs, he ducked into the study to grab his tablet, intending to use it to look the man up once he had his name. Soon he stood before the duffle, reluctantly lifting it onto the blue sheets of his bed. 

 

            From the moment he began to unzip it, his sensitive nose was assaulted by an assortment of smells. The most prominent scent was, predictably, dog. From there he was hit with a strong wave of aftershave, something with a ship on the bottle. Hints of pine and mint, miraculously unsmothered, stubbornly lingered in the air. The final scent he didn't have a name for. It was something warm, pleasant, and unique. Incredibly faint even with his keen sense of smell, it would have likely gone unnoticed by anyone else. He found that he liked it, as well as the mint and the pine, but it wasn't enough to keep him from wanting to close the bag as soon as he could.

 

            Its contents were nothing remarkable or of importance, just the typical necessities one carries while traveling. He sifted through rough fabrics, wondering who could possibly need this many flannels and jeans. Aside from those, there was a brush, a disposable razor, and some cheap shampoo. Nothing here would help him find a name. 

 

            Just as he was growing frustrated, his hand brushed a thin, rectangular piece of plastic. Holding it up to the light, he read a number, an address, and, most importantly, a name. Will Graham.

 

            His irritation was abruptly forgotten as it was replaced with excitement. He recognized this name. Picking up his tablet, he entered it into the search bar and hoped that this would be who he thought it was. The first link to come up was to an article by Freddie Lounds on TattleCrime. Even better, it was one he had read before. Still, he combed through it again with fresh eyes.

 

_It Takes One to Know One: FBI Hires Will Graham to Catch the Ripper._ Lounds went on to speculate that Will Graham was a psychopath, perhaps even a killer himself. While it contained some useful information on his background, Hannibal was more concerned with the small photograph tucked into the upper right-hand corner. It was as he'd remembered. A dull picture of a haggard man. Dark bruises ringed blue irises, hidden behind the thick lenses of his glasses. Scruff covered his square jaw and stood out sharply against pallid skin. Unruly brown curls framed his face and gave him a wild look. His mouth was set into a heavy scowl.

 

            He personally thought that the picture didn't do him justice. The Will Graham he had seen at the airport, while looking both stressed and tired, had carried a softer appearance. He wouldn't even meet his eyes. But it made sense that Lounds would chose the photograph that she did. That Will Graham was easier to sell as something dangerous. And for Hannibal, he might have been. Mr. Graham was being groomed to track him down, and from what he'd read of him he could potentially pose a threat. He would have to meet him before he could decide what to do next. Until then, his name would be marked off his list.

 

            But he would not go hungry 'til then.

 

            With that in mind, Hannibal prepared to track down prey of his own. He donned the previously discarded layers of his suit and slipped a capped syringe of propofol into the pocket of his trousers. Grabbing his coat on the way out, he closed and locked his door.

 

            Downtown Baltimore was not a place he would have preferred to be at one o'clock in the morning. Even less appealing was the cramped street outside of a small, rancorous pub, the cheery light streaming through its windows nowhere near enough to fight the shadows that swallowed it up where it fell at their feet. This didn't matter to him, of course. It would only make it harder for Aaron to see.

 

            Only two hours ago it had been Friday, which meant that Aaron West would be spending his weekend the same way he always seemed to; drinking as much alcohol as he could possibly consume before the bartender kicked him out into the street. His liver would _not_ be going anywhere _near_ the fridge. 

 

            Sure enough, Hannibal only had to wait for ten minutes before his wobbling form lumbered through the doorway. He pressed himself against the bricks, watching as the drunken man tottered past him on his way to his car, muttering under his breath about the cruelty of the barkeep. It was almost disappointingly effortless to come up behind him and plunge the needle into his neck.

 

            The limp body fell back into his arms and was swiftly carried away, back into the deepest shadows that protectively folded themselves around his black Bentley. Aaron's wrists and ankles were bound with duct tape, a cloth acting as his gag. He shouldn't wake before they reached his final destination, but one could never be too careful. Hannibal shut the door to the backseat and slid around to the driver's side, his black leather gloves and the empty syringe being placed in the passenger seat. The push of a few buttons yielded soothing classical music flowing from the speakers. It was a comfortable drive home.

 

            Getting Aaron inside was just as simple as obtaining him had been, the early hour ensuring that there would be no witnesses to the deadweight being moved across the threshold. He still had yet to stir even after being stripped down and strapped to a cold metal table in his basement. This worked in Hannibal's favor, though, giving him time to fetch a phone from upstairs and put on his plastic suit. The day he allowed his victims' blood to soil his clothing was the day hell froze.

 

            When Aaron finally began to twitch in his bonds, he set the phone to the side with a polite smile. Hannibal moved to stand by his head, watching his eyes flutter open at the sound of his voice. "Ah, Mr. West. Kind of you to finally join me."

 

            The instant response of fear was glorious as he struggled to grasp the situation through his alcohol-induced stupor. "Wh-whas' this... Wha' er you doing to me?" 

 

            His slurred words were ignored as Hannibal examined the tools shining in the strong light from overhead. His fingertips danced over the slim blade of a viciously hooked knife, wrapping around its handle as he hummed in thought. "Mr. West, do you remember catering at a certain dinner party for a Ms. Randolph about a month ago?" He gently put it back in its place in favor of lifting a scalpel, turning it to watch it gleam.

 

            Aaron's eyes tracked the movement nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing around a dry swallow in his throat. "Yeah, I... I thin' so... Why?"

 

            Hannibal leaned over him to stare into his watery brown eyes, allowing his smile to warp into something crueler, more animalistic. "Perhaps you do not recall, but you were not on your best behavior that night." The slight hitch in his breath as he leaned away was music to his ears. "Discourtesy is unspeakably ugly to me, and you have been very, _very,_ rude. Now what's to be done about that, hmm?" 

 

            He came to stand by his torso now, entertained by his pitiful apologies. It was far too late for those. Hannibal started small, lightly digging the scalpel's edge into the webbing between the fingers of his left hand, middle and ring. He slowly drew it up his arm in a neat line, pressing harder the further he went. By the time he reached his shoulder he was touching bone. Aaron sobbed messily beneath him, writhing in pain yet unable to move away in the slightest. Without hesitation Hannibal slit his vocal cords and left him incapable of much more than a wheeze. He was quite loud, the sound incredibly unpleasant, and would have been silenced either way; Hannibal had an important phone call to make.

 

            The time on his phone read two thirty seven A.M. Ordinarily he would have found calling someone at this hour to be inconsiderate at best, but he had been following the news and had a good idea of where Mr. Graham could be. The Dentist had been making headlines for a long while, and considering that he had been moving northwest, it would be roughly eleven thirty in which ever town he had left his crime scene for the FBI to find. Therefore, he didn't wait to punch in the digits he had found on the card upstairs.

 

            It rang once, twice, and then a cautious voice reached his ear. "...hello?"

 

            Introductions went smoothly enough, though he was pleasantly surprised by the attention given to his title. Less so when the name of his profession was met with decidedly displeased silence. It was time to get to the heart of the matter.

 

           "I believe you have something of mine." He resumed his cutting of Mr. West, doing the same to his other arm. The whistling of air through the hole in his throat was just soft enough to not be heard over the phone. 

 

            "Your bag." It sounded as though he had been caught off guard. This was good. If he hadn't realized the mistake, then he hadn't opened Hannibal's duffle yet. The corners of his eyes turned upward in pleasure as this was confirmed.

 

            Then it was Hannibal's turn to be taken off guard as he was asked about the number. He smiled faintly while dragging the scalpel's duller side over Aaron's cheekbones. Mr. Graham had apparently forgotten that he'd included the helpful card in the first place. Hannibal found this carelessness strangely endearing. 

 

            "You will have to forgive me, but I had to go through your bag while attempting to find a way to contact you. There was a card inside with your information." He wondered whether the pages turning in the background were of The Dentist's latest work or something more innocuous.

 

           Mr. Graham gave a huff of depreciative laughter into the phone, the papers being flipped more slowly. "Sorry, it's been a while since I put that in there."

 

            Hannibal could almost imagine his expression, lips curled into a rueful smile. It flickered on the edge of his perception, and indulgently he closed his eyes, crafting his own version of the man and pulling him into the room across thousands of miles.

 

            The first thing to arrive was the scent, bottled up in his mind from when he had smelled it hours ago. He focused on the more pleasant odors, and soon faint traces of pine, mint, and Will Graham himself wafted through the stale basement air, mingling with blood, sweat, and fear as though they had been made to do just that. They might have been, if the man they belonged to spent his days chasing murderous ghosts. Which he did.

 

            Soon after came the clothes. A light blue flannel, likely one that Hannibal had seen in his bag before, was joined by the navy denim of loose jeans to cloak a thinner frame of wiry muscle. The dog hairs that had clung so stubbornly to the duffle stuck to these as well. He hadn't taken notice of his shoes at the time, so this Will Graham went barefoot, lending him a strange sense of vulnerability.

 

            The picture grew more detailed as he began filling in the blanks from the neck up. Chocolate curls sprang wildly from his scalp, framing the contours of a masculine face. Light stubble of the same color obscured the lines of his jaw. Thin, pink lips, set in a neutral expression rather than the downward curve that Lounds had captured, appeared beneath a rounded nose. Wide eyes brushed with thick lashes held steely blue irises. Hannibal avoided adding the man's glasses in his hopes that those eyes would face him head on, but even this version of Mr. Graham refused to look any higher than the place where his tie nestled against his throat. Even so, the completed picture was lovely.

 

            The voice had already been provided.

 

            When he opened his eyes, the apparition had taken its place across from him rather than disappearing. This image of Mr. Graham had his eyes lowered to the wounds on Aaron West's arm, following the slow ooze of blood as it trickled down onto the table and over the sides where it dripped to the floor. The papers continued their rustling.

 

            "No need to apologize, Mr. Graham-"

 

            "Will." Hannibal paused at the interruption, slightly irritated with him for cutting in. Will must have noticed this as he cleared his throat and continued, his imaginary counterpart rubbing at his neck and peering into the darkness off to the side. "Only my students call me Mr. Graham. It just felt... off, coming from a stranger." 

 

            His Will scooted to the side when he came around to work at the skin on Aaron's arm, pulling it back agonizingly slowly. Again he paused. His Will. It was a nice thought. "In that case, you may call me Hannibal." His eyes creased at the corners while he stained his fingers with red. "Only my patients call me doctor Lecter."

 

            His Will laughed, and more pages turned. "Alright, Hannibal."

 

            His curiosity piqued, Hannibal was distracted by the sound once again. "Pardon me if I am intruding, but I have noticed that you seem to be reading something. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" The flesh on this arm thoroughly loosened, he moved to the other side and began tugging at it instead. 

 

            Will stepped back over, still glancing away. "No, no, I'm just looking over some files. Nothing too important right now." Interesting.

 

            "Would I be correct in assuming that these files are on The Dentist?" Finally done with the arms, he went to stand by Aaron's feet, seeing Will stiffen and frown down at the panicked expression on Mr. West's face.

 

            "I'm not really at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation." He folded his arms across his chest. "Should I be asking how you knew exactly whose case it was?"

 

            Hannibal made cuts similar to the ones from before, this time starting at the webbing next to West's big toes. "It is simple enough to conclude if one tracks the news, my dear Will. The Dentist has been on the move, and only a high profile killer would be enough to force the FBI to send a Special Agent such as yourself."

 

            Will stiffened even more, arms shifting to wrap around his waist. "And you know that I'm a Special Agent because...?"

 

            "Again, Will, I track the news. Yours is a name that appears quite often." Satisfied with the folds of skin now hanging off of Aaron's extremities, Hannibal took out a box of pins. Fresh tears flowed down his face as he carefully secured the flesh to his arms and legs. He watched muscles jump uselessly after the needles were put in place.

 

            Sighing in defeat, his Will scrubbed at his face and peeked out over a hand to survey Hannibal's work. "Right, sorry." He hesitated, but slowly continued. "And yes, we're here for The Dentist."

 

            Sensing his reluctance, Hannibal gently coaxed further information out of him by supplying some of his own. "Ah, she kills in pairs, right? Another two bodies found?"

 

            Just as he'd hoped, Will caught his 'mistake' and went from there. "He, actually. And he only kills married couples with no children." Like a broken dam, words poured from his mouth as he paced along the table, arms folded at his back. "Takes their teeth out, uses them... Creatively." He licked his lips and swallowed dryly. "Kills the husband and wife, then he robs them. He's seeing them as his parents. Taking what they owe."

 

            "They owe him? Why?" With the meat now exposed, Hannibal swapped out the scalpel for the curved knife from earlier. Small slivers of muscle were carved out, dropped to the floor to be picked up later.

 

            "They abused him as a child, probably more verbal than physical. Mocking him, deriding him. He felt worthless and powerless. It was out of his control."

 

            He switched back to the scalpel once again, murmuring as he leaned in to make tiny nicks on Aaron's veins. "So this is his way of lashing out." Hannibal stood, blocking small spurts of blood with his hand. "And how do the teeth factor into this?"

 

            Will's nails could be heard drumming against something in the background, his copy doing the same on a section of the table that was slightly cleaner than the rest. "Well, that's what they mocked him for."

 

            "Defects in his teeth?"

 

            "Yeah, but I doubt he has them anymore. Probably fixed them once he had the money to."

 

            Hannibal studied Will's face as he made an incision from West's pelvis to his collar bone, pulling at the sides to expose organ and bone. He spoke slowly as an idea formed. "Would you say that The Dentist is an overly confident man?" Aaron's wheezes grew louder again.

 

            That caught his interest, blue eyes flicking up to focus on his tie where it rested beneath his plastic suit. "He's cocky, thinks he can get away with anything." His curious gaze still strayed from Hannibal's own, equal parts frustrating and fascinating as the mental projection was his to control.

 

            "Then he may not have stopped there. If he has developed a complex over his teeth, as you suspect, then it could have easily transferred to the rest of his face. Would it be too farfetched to think that he would want to undergo reconstructive surgery?" The first thing to be cut away was the liver, useless to him and placed off to the side. From there, he removed organs and placed them into a sterile bin, gradually hollowing out the cavity. "Eliminating anything he saw as a flaw."

 

            "You're right! We should be looking into people with a history of plastic surgery." The brief excitement in his voice died off as he sighed, a hand coming up to dig into his curls. "Thank you, but I shouldn't have told you any of this in the first place."

 

            With the organs safely out of the way, he took a saw and began working at the breastbone, finally lifting it out. "I know more than enough about discretion and confidentiality, Will. I won't breathe a word of this to anyone." He carefully positioned a rib spreader and muted his end of the call to ensure that the sounds to follow wouldn't filter through. 

 

            "...Thank you, Hannibal." He stumbled a bit over his name, still unused to saying it. A series of loud cracks filled the room. The phone was unmuted.

 

            "It is no trouble at all." Hannibal shifted the phone, removing the spreader and placing it next to the curved knife. "When do you think we will be able to exchange bags?" 

 

            "I can't come back until we... Catch the guy..." Will yawned into his palm, reaching up under his glasses to rub at his eyes. It was, dare he think it, cute.

 

            "Will, if you are tired then I must insist that you go to sleep." Aaron's heart, now fully exposed to the chilly air, beat sluggishly beneath his sanguine gaze.

 

            "Just a few more files..." Hannibal could hear him fighting another yawn.

 

            He clicked his tongue, reaching over to grasp the scalpel's handle. "None of that now. You should rest. Doctor's orders."

 

            "Wrong kind of doctor."

 

            "Perhaps, but I used to be a surgeon. As you can imagine I am very familiar with the field of medicine."

 

            Will mumbled into the hand still covering his mouth, just barely loud enough for him to hear. "I was right."

 

            Hannibal laughed, slicing through arteries as he did. "Goodnight, Will."

 

            Mr. West was gone.

 

            "Goodnight, Hannibal."

 

            He hung up, holding the heart over the corpse as it bled. The imaginary Will had vanished. Their conversation was played over in his head while he delicately set the muscle in the bin with everything else he had harvested. He had already decided that this would not be a Ripper kill, affording it none of his usual artistry, but now he had further incentive to keep things quiet. It wouldn't do to distract Will and make him take even longer to return.

 

            He examined the heart with half lidded eyes, various recipes drifting through his mind. Perhaps he could eat it with the profiler once he returned. His dearest William would find himself _at_ his table rather than on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this will be the last time I start a chapter _in media res_ (if what I've done so far even counts). [Recipe for rognons d’agneau à la Villandry](http://www.hertzmann.com/articles/2007/abats/).


	4. Doors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I've been writing a lot lately. ~~Probably because I've been procrastinating everything...~~ I'm gonna warn you, this chapter is kinda messed up. I've put it in the tags, but just in case you didn't notice a child dies. I'm sorry.

~~~

 

            Standing in the field, Will's mind felt strangely empty, his head clearer than it had been in a long time. The wind rustled through the tall, dry grass that sprung up on all sides, pushing it forward in a wavelike motion that made him feel like he should've flowed along with it instead of standing rigid as he did. 

 

           The pale blue of the sky stood out against the black branches of the trees before him. They clustered together, a forest stretching on farther than the eye could see, silent sentinels standing guard of something he wasn't meant to know about. Their twisted trunks and gnarled roots seemed to deliver a grim warning. Keep out.

 

            Blades of grass whispered against his jeans as he stepped forward anyway. Something was telling him that he needed to see what lay on the other side. He passed through the first line of trees with ease, lightly stepping over raised sections of roots where they poked up out of the ground. But the further he went, the larger they got until he had no choice but to turn back or find another way around.

 

            A grey fog slowly rolled in as the sky darkened overhead, shifting from mid afternoon to indigo to black. Still he pressed on, driven by the same strange force that had made him enter in the first place. It was getting darker and darker. Will shivered in the steadily dropping temperature, goosebumps rippling across his skin as his fingers blindly felt along rough edges of bark.

 

            Finally he reached the end, stumbling out into what appeared to be the same clearing he'd started in. The wind had changed, now blowing in harder and pressing low against the ground like it wanted to carve it open. A full moon hung overhead, pure white light spilling out onto the grass and painting it a dull brown. Fireflies drifted through the air with blinking lights. But he couldn't tear his gaze away from the door.

 

            It stood about a hundred feet away from him, supported by nothing yet held up all the same. The wood was a deep red. He noticed that it threw off a light all its own, tinting everything around it the same shade of crimson in a way that left him feeling mildly unsettled. Behind it the field stretched on in an endless and unchanging horizon. Logically, he knew that if he opened it that was all he would see. And illogically, he knew that he was wrong. There was only one thing to try either way.

 

            Again he stepped forward, compelled by that same something to do what he shouldn't. He stopped in front of the door, suddenly unwilling to touch it. While he debated turning around, he realized that behind him, something was breathing. Instinctively he froze. A twig snapped. His hand turned the knob.

 

            What waited on the other side was definitely _not_ the field. Sitting in the middle of black nothingness was a bed, covered by a single white sheet stained with red. He was reluctant to approach, but the sound of whatever was behind him coming closer left him no choice. Stepping into the room, his feet connected with something that felt like carpet and triggered a memory of the Irvings' bedroom. The second he thought of it the familiar layout replaced the emptiness.

 

            Will found himself unsure now that he stood by the bed. There was something about it that bothered him, but he couldn't quite place it. While he was considering it, a huff of air hit his neck. He tensed, wound tight as a spring as sharp points pressed against his spine. His eyes screwed shut as he waited for the inevitable pain of them stabbing into him, but it never came. Instead he heard another snort and the clip of hooves as the thing moved across from him.

 

            Opening his eyes was more an act of curiosity than courage. Two things had changed. One, he was now staring at an incredibly intimidating beast. A stag with fur as dark as pitch stared back, massive rack of antlers stretching up into the air. Feathers rustled together along its flanks, interwoven with its pelt seamlessly. There was something in its eyes that spoke of a terrifying intelligence. It knew him and was here for a reason. Two, there was a body beneath the sheet.

 

            He knew that this was what he'd been brought here to see. Pinching a corner between his finger and thumb, he ignored his audience. He'd wanted to peel the sheet back slowly, but the Ravenstag surprised him by lowering its head and flinging it off with its antlers. Will's breath left him in a whoosh.

 

            Another him lay on the bed. His corpse looked like the Irvings, mouth a gaping hole while his intestines glistened a shade of pink. Eyelids popped open to reveal milky films over his natural shade of blue. He stumbled back in horror as his copy sat up and smiled at him, organs shifting as he did. The double grinned and blood cascaded down his chin. Without thinking, he turned and ran.

 

            And watched himself leave. In a split second he'd shifted his perspective, the corpse now him. His senses were oddly numb, allowing him to look down at his evisceration with a strange detachment. Blood still fell from his lips. He could taste it on his tongue, the metallic tang nearly overwhelming. Again the Ravenstag's antlers touched his skin. Tines dug into his skin with tenderness, and soon he could see points of reddened bone blossoming from his chest. A loud ringing filled his ears as the stag slowly raised its head. He sank down onto the tines gracefully, willingly giving in to his fate. The Ravenstag showed its pleasure with an earth-shattering roar and-

 

           Will jolted awake, head snapping up from where it'd rested on his arms. His breath came out in shallow pants. He could still feel the wounds, still feel the numbness. Finally, he calmed, remembering where he was. Last night he'd been looking through files and had ended up falling asleep draped over the desk in his room. And now he'd been woken by his phone insistently vibrating against the wood.

 

            Rubbing at his eyes with a groan, he groped around for it blindly. His fingers landed on a rectangular piece of cool plastic and he dragged it over. He swiped across the screen and sat up, arching his back until it popped. "Hello?"

 

            "Will." Jack's voice boomed through the speaker as loudly as it would have if he'd been standing in the room. He tensed, already recognizing that tone. "Come downstairs. We've got a crime scene." His phone let out a small click. Glancing over, he saw that the call had ended.

 

            Sighing, he pushed back his seat and stood, wincing at the stiffness in his joints. This was just _perfect_. _Exactly_ what he wanted to wake up to. He shuffled into the bathroom, pausing at his suitcase to grab a change of clothing. One shower and about twenty minutes later, he stepped out ready to go. Just before he left he remembered his phone on the desk. Will considered leaving it, but decided it would be better to take it with him. It was slipped into his pocket.

 

            As he was on the fifth floor, he took the elevator. Like everything else in the motel it was a rundown mess. The doors were covered in scratches and squeaked whenever they opened or closed. What had been a blue carpet was now dull gray with filth, probably hadn't been cleaned in years if at all. It was slow as hell to boot. He stepped into it anyway, sending up a silent prayer that today wouldn't be the day it finally broke down.

 

            At the third floor his phone chirped with a text. He pulled it out suspiciously, wondering if it would be Jack demanding to know where he was. As soon as he read the name he relaxed. Hannibal Lecter flashed up on the screen. Again he swiped at it, reading the white letters with a smile.

 

            _Good morning, Will. Have things been going well?_

            He quickly tapped out a reply. _As well as they can be, I guess. Just got up so not much happening yet._

            Almost immediately another message arrived. _I hope that you at least got a full night's rest._

            _Not exactly. I woke up at my desk._ He grinned, imagining the doctor's displeasure with him. Sure enough, the next text was subdued, but clearly scolding him.

 

            _Not exactly indeed. While your work is important, you should not let it run you ragged Will._

_About that, I can't talk long. Have to go soon. Sorry._

This time there was a slight delay between messages. The elevator was on the second floor now, the two written out in LEDs that had burnt out in a few places. It slowly changed to a one, glitching a few times before the display got it right. He glanced back down just in time for the next text to come in.

 

            _The Dentist again?_

Will felt his mouth go dry. _I wish it wasn't. But I think it is. Gotta go, bye._

            He hit send just as the elevator doors opened. Stepping out, he put the phone away and spotted Jack waiting for him by the entrance. He nodded once he had his attention. They both walked out to Jack's car, matching each other's strides.

           

            Will took in his agitation, feeling it wash over him in a wave. There was only one reason for him to be wound so tight. "It's The Dentist, isn't it."

 

            "Maybe. Victims were Robert and Emma Jones." Jack took out his keys and unlocked the doors, getting into the driver's seat while Will dropped into the one at his side.

 

            His eyebrows rose. That wasn't what he'd expected to hear. "Maybe?"

 

            "The scene is different this time."

 

            "Different how?"

 

            His eyes narrowed grimly and his hands flexed on the steering wheel. "You'll find out."

 

            The drive was mostly silent, just as it had been the first time around. This time it was sunny, but not enough to chase away the cold. Pale light streamed down and bounced off of the buildings and streets. Beams of it stabbed into his eyes and made them sting. He could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on and fished around in his jacket for a small bottle of aspirin. Finding it and unscrewing the cap, he shook out a few and popped them into his mouth. He knew that Jack wouldn't approve, but didn't care at the moment. Jack didn't say anything but his small frown told him he'd noticed.

 

            Resting his head against the window, Will took in the scenery. It was the same as everything he'd seen before. But still more pleasant than what he was about to see again. It had been a rough two days, his mornings spent in the conference room and his nights with files at his tiny desk. With the new insight his profile had provided, they'd been able to narrow down their list of suspects a lot more than they had before. They were so close. It was like The Dentist was taunting them with such a specific profile and no leads. He grimaced. Most likely because the abuse was never reported.

 

            Still, the plastic surgery tip had helped. He didn't know why he had spoken so freely about an ongoing investigation, but he was glad he did. Though he hadn't expected to hear from him again until it was time to exchange bags, he'd woken up to a text from Hannibal the next morning. Somehow roping him into a conversation, he was surprisingly easy to talk to - even if that may have been due to the lack of face to face conversation more than anything. The doctor had proven to be an excellent sounding board for him, fully capable of not only following his train of thought but building onto his theories.

 

            Will continued to apologize for swapping their bags whenever he could, but Hannibal told him not to worry every time. He hadn't opened the bag even though he was curious. Hannibal didn't want him to, and he was determined to respect his wishes. It was bad enough to have essentially stolen his things without digging through them. While his own duffle had been thoroughly searched, he didn't really mind. Most of his things had been in the one he'd managed to hold on to. He _was_ running low on clothes though.

 

            He drifted out of his thoughts as the flashing of blue and red police lights came to his attention. Jack pulled into the driveway of yet another average house in a middle-class neighborhood. It was one story this time, wooden siding painted a cheerful yellow. The lawn was well kept and a wooden bench stood off to one side. Crime scene tape had already been rolled out along the perimeter, guarded from a small crowd of curious onlookers by two cops. From what he could see it showed the same signs of a break in as before.

 

            "Let's go." Jack was already out of the car by the time he managed to unbuckle his seatbelt, slamming the door behind him. He threw open his own door and followed behind him as they passed the cops with a nod. Once they'd crossed the threshold he looked up to take in the scene.

 

            Instantly he was hit with the violence of it all. Things had been smashed onto the ground, shattered glass and splintered wood covering the floor. Bright smears of blood decorated the walls and floor of the kitchen, connected to the open living room they'd found themselves in after walking inside. More smears of it trailed out and into the rest of the house. Every piece of furniture had been upturned, some appearing to have been thrown. The place looked ransacked, but this time he got the feeling that nothing would be missing. All of the family photos had been torn from their frames and ripped into scraps that were scattered across the floor.

 

            Already Will was nearly overwhelmed with rage and grief. He thought he might choke on it, feeling himself start to sweat. Jack, seemingly ignorant of his struggle, lead him to the back of the house where the husband and wife's bedroom was. Staring at the cracked door, one thought jumped to the forefront of his mind. _Don't go in._ The killer's feelings this time were too strong, too powerful. It would be terrifyingly easy to get lost in them.

 

            He felt Jack's eyes on his face, knew what he must have looked like. Out of the corner of his eye he watched him furrow his brow. "Will, look at me. Is something wrong? Is this too much?"

 

            Will chanced a look at his eyes before allowing his gaze to flit away. The worry he found in them pushed him to swallow down his unease and get the job done. "I'm fine. Let's just get this over with."

 

            Reaching for the knob, he was caught off guard when Jack put a hand on his shoulder. His muscles automatically pulled taut beneath his skin and he had to stop himself from shaking it off. He turned to him questioningly, ready to protest, but stopped when he saw Jack's expression.

 

            "The Jones were babysitting for their neighbors. There's a child in there."

 

            To say that he was shocked would be an understatement. Suddenly all of the violence in the other rooms connected with this missing piece. A sick feeling rising in his stomach, he nodded.

 

            Jack dropped his hand and walked away. "Come get me when you're done."

 

            Taking a deep breath, he grasped the knob and turned, feeling a strange sense of Déjà vu. It was his dream all over again. He had to see what was on the other side, but knew he shouldn't enter. This time whatever he found would be much worse, if only because it was real.

 

            The first thing to greet him was the killer's main tableau. Husband and wife lie side by side on the opposite wall, holding hands. It took him a second to figure out what was so wrong about them. Their heads were on the wrong bodies. Shiny white teeth had been stabbed into their necks in a circle, resembling a pearl necklace. Large arcs of blood coated everything in sight, even making it to the ceiling.

 

            On the bed was a little boy. He'd been tucked in carefully, the blankets drawn up to his chest. It was peaceful. He could've been sleeping. But the ring of bruises around his neck coupled with the stillness of his chest said he wasn't.

 

           Will closed his eyes. In the darkness, a golden pendulum swung. His breathing slowed as he counted to three.

 

            _He stood outside of the house, staring at the glowing windows and imagining the happy couple within. They wouldn't be happy much longer. Casually striding up to the door, he smiled to himself. The door was as easy to kick in as the others had been. Everything about this would be as easy as the others. "I break in confidently. There's no need to hold myself back. After all, even the_ FBI _hasn't been able to catch me."_

_Emma Jones stared at him from the kitchen like a deer in headlights. He had her in a chokehold in seconds, cutting off her shrill scream. "I incapacitate the wife first. Emma is different from Charlotte, takes more effort." She fought admirably, even managing to back them into a wall, but couldn't shake loose and soon fell limply in his arms._

_Behind him he heard a door fly open. The husband was coming. Thinking quickly, he dropped the wife onto the floor in the middle of the kitchen where he'd be sure to see her. Then he pressed himself against the wall by the archway. Sure enough, Robert ran by him without a glance, kneeling at his wife's side and grabbing her hand. "Emma!"_

_Like a shadow he snuck up to him, the man only noticing his presence once it was too late. His powerful muscles contracted around his neck, leaving him unconscious in seconds. He dropped him to the floor alongside the wife. Things were already going better than they had last time. Ropes were secured around their arms and legs, leaving them immobile and certainly unable to escape. "Now both are bound and at my mercy. I can take all the time I want."_

_His favored pliers were taken out and turned in the light as he considered his next step. "Previously, I started with the wife. So this time I'll start with the husband." He sank down to his knees and straddled him, taking his lower body out of the equation if he should try struggling. Prying his mouth open, he tapped the nose of his pliers against his front teeth and gleefully took his time picking a side to start on. The vibrations were enough to wake him. Robert writhed on the ground pitifully, like a worm. He grinned down at him. "I begin with the row on the left."_

_One by one, the teeth were tugged out, root and all. As they were lying down this time, Robert began to choke on his blood. His coughs sprayed it out onto his face and Will's hands. Emma came around at the wet sound, immediately beginning to scream and cry. He didn't mind. Her pleas made him feel good, fed into his mood. But he didn't want the husband dead just yet, so he stood and kicked him onto his side. The blood flowed out of his mouth and onto the tiles, allowing him to suck in heaving lungfuls of air. He gripped his chin and continued his work, removing the right side. Once he was done he let him go, leaving the teeth in a small pile next to him._

_"Now it's Emma's turn." He straddled her as well, but this only renewed her resistance. Just as he'd completely contained her, Robert lashed out and bumped him, knocking him off balance. He righted himself before anything could happen but was pissed all the same. "Robert makes himself a nuisance. I am forced to punish him." He rose and dragged him off to the side. Then he kicked his ribs, not letting up until he heard cracking. Movement ceased._

_Behind him the wife sobbed. "No, no, no." He ignored it, rounding back on her and dropping down again. "I am free to continue uninterrupted. This time I start on the right." He methodically removed each tooth, finishing both rows and rolling her onto her side. She was moved next to her husband._

_Their teeth were scooped up and deposited in his pockets, husband's on the left, wife's on the right. After digging through a few drawers, he selected a large butcher's knife and took that as well. Navigating the house, he soon found his way to their bedroom. The knife was thrown onto the rug. Now to bring in the bodies and do the same thing to them._

_Emma was a lightweight, long limbs on a thin frame. Robert on the other hand... The rotund man proved to be a bit of a challenge, but he'd known he was up to the task. Both were brought to their room easily enough, though with no cooperation on their part. Wide eyes stared up at him from where they lie on the floor. "I have chosen to leave them in the bedroom this time as well. Their deaths will be... Messy." He picked up the knife._

_Will pulled the husband up into a sitting position and came around behind him. He roughly hacked at his neck, blood gushing out in a long spray. Both he and Emma were soaked by the time he was done, Robert's head being dropped as he grabbed the wife and did the same. The Jones' blood flowed freely from their wounds, mingling as they stained the white carpet._

_Now he reached into his pocket and lifted out Robert's teeth. "I have finished the dirty work, I just have to complete my display." The corpse was again pulled up, each tooth shoved deep into the stump of his neck. Once they had been properly arranged Emma's was given similar treatment. Finally he leaned the two against each other across from the door and wove their fingers together before replacing the heads the wrong way. He stood with his hands on his hips, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips._

_Then he heard a door open down the hall. Startled, he turned, head snapping to the side. "Someone else is here. This is not in my plan." In the open doorway stood a young boy in pajamas, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "Mr. Jones?" Will's heart panged in his chest. No, no, this wasn't right._

_It was too late by then. The boy's eyes widened as they adjusted to the dark. He could see that this was not Mr. Jones, but a strange man. And he was terrified. The boy tried to run, and he had no choice but to chase after him. He swept him up into his arms and carried him back into the room, feeling little feet kick back against his knees. Releasing him, he stood in front of the door and watched him flee in terror._

_His heart was cold and hurt. He grew saddened and distraught as the boy ran away desperately. Will felt his throat constricting, working around his words. "...I didn't think there was anyone else home. I didn't know, I didn't_ know _! I knew they didn't have any_ children _, there weren't supposed to be any..." His voice failed him, couldn't capture his grief._

_The boy was crying. To make matters worse, he saw the bodies where they were slumped and began to scream. He watched him back into a corner as he approached, breathing heavily. The Dentist was frustrated and angry. At the husband and wife. At the boy's parents, whoever they were. At himself. But not the boy. No, not the boy. This wasn't his fault._

_With nowhere to run, the boy was helpless to stop him from wrapping his hands around his neck. He squeezed, feeling the pulse beneath his fingers rabbit. "I try to make this as painless as possible. He doesn't deserve pain. He doesn't deserve this." Holding him down as his struggles grew weaker and weaker, he began to cry. The tiny body finally stilled. There was no pleasure here, not like with the adults. This was wrong._

_The boy was gently carried to the bed. He placed him on the pillows, pulling the blankets up and tucking him in. It was the only thing he could do, the only way to offer an apology. But it wasn't anywhere near enough._

_He left everything as it was. The door was delicately shut behind him, as though the boy was just sleeping and might wake. The moment it closed he began to tear through the house in a rage. Everything here was worthless to him, and therefore destroyed. "I don't take anything. In my mind, this house is tainted. This wasn't supposed to happen. This is not my design."_

Will came back to himself only to find tears on his face. He quickly wiped them away. "Jack, you can come in." It was awful to hear his voice break.

 

            Jack came back and stood in the doorway, just as the boy had done. Will turned to face the bed. "What's his name?"

 

            Eyeing him carefully, he answered in a softer tone than usual. "Michael Jacobs." Looking uncomfortable, he walked further into the room, still giving him his space. "Will, I need to know. Is this our killer?"

 

            "It is. The Dentist didn't know that he was here. He saw him, so he couldn't let him get away. The escalated violence was the result of his returned feelings of helplessness. The Dentist sees these houses as his childhood home, the victims as his parents. The boy could only be himself." Will slid his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose, still caught in a tidal wave of emotions that didn't belong to him. "He's extremely distraught. Won't go to work today. That should help us narrow down our list."

 

            Jack continued to watch him, but oddly enough didn't push for more information. "...Are you okay?" 

 

            Will stiffened, knowing that this time it wasn't asked to fill an obligation. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

 

            "You're shaking."

 

            Was he? Holding his hands out in front of him, he glanced down. He was. Shit. The turmoil that had driven The Dentist into a rage was coursing through him, crashing against the walls of his mental forts and finding their way in. He needed to get out of that room. Pushing past Jack, he barely remembered to give an explanation. "I'm getting some air."

 

            Bursting out of the house should've made him feel better than it did. He couldn't help but see it as the killer did; tainted. He wished he had driven so he could leave. His lungs were finding it difficult to breathe. Inside of his head, his mind fought to reject the foreign mentality and rebuild the walls that were supposed to stop this from happening. Several sets of eyes turned to him. He needed to get further away from this.

 

            Stepping off the small porch, he circled around to the back of the house and kept walking. There was no fence, just a gradual slope leading to a line of trees. Once he'd gotten far enough to not see the yellow through the branches, he stopped. The woods around him were mildly pacifying, but it wasn't enough right now for him. His hand found its way to his pocket and drew out his phone. Without thinking, he unlocked it and scrolled through his contacts, thumb hovering over the call button. Then hesitated.

 

            He tapped the screen. _Calling Hannibal Lecter._ Will lifted it to his ear and listened to it ring, his whole world narrowed down to this singularity. He couldn't decide which was scarier; him not picking up or answering. There was a click on the other end of the line.

 

            "Will?"

 

            He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, already calming down. His deep, accented voice was soothing. That one word was enough for him to pull himself together and reply. "Hannibal. It's me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as a funny idea and then evolved into this. What does that say about me?? :| I've only planned out about four more chapters and then I'm completely lost, so that'll be fun.


	5. Vividly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been a while. I'm using this to break through writer's block again unfortunately. Unbeta-ed. As always, writing Hannibal is hard and I have no clue how I did. If this chapter feels weird or off somehow, please tell me!!! I'd rather do a re-write than leave something that's not right at all. This chapter ended up being really long too. :/

***

 

            Hannibal strode through the airport with purpose, free of luggage and, therefore, unnecessary weight. Around him the crowd parted for him as though he were a blade, taking in his measured steps and casual grace before automatically moving out of his way. Faint strains of Bach cut through the din of chatter buzzing through the air. Their soothing swells complimented his mood perfectly. A larger gap in the tide of people appeared ahead. He walked toward it knowingly, a subtle smile twisting his lips as he finally broke through.

 

            His Will sat alone on a small bench, head tilted down as he focused on the book in his hand. Like Hannibal, he was lacking any bags or belongings aside from what he had brought to hold or wear. This time he wore a different flannel, in a shade of red that stood out against his skin, and a looser pair of jeans. Hannibal took a moment to assess his bare feet.

 

            As though he had spoken his name, Will looked up suddenly and glanced over with an owlish blink. Glasses with thick black rims perched on his nose, sliding down a bit further than they were meant to be. As he closed the distance between them he had the urge to either push them up or remove them entirely. In the end he did neither, instead sitting by Will's side and letting their knees brush. "Hello, Will."

 

            The book was carefully shut and placed to his other side. Blue eyes flickered over to the buttons of his waistcoat; far from his eyes, he mused, but still on his person. Acceptable, better than nothing, and yet not quite what he'd prefer. Still, he wouldn't want to force what could be much sweeter if allowed to occur naturally.

 

            "Hannibal." Will nodded his head in greeting, drumming his fingers against his thigh. A small frown made its way onto his face. "...Wasn't expecting to see you here." Wariness had crept into his murmur by the end.

 

            He smiled disarmingly and shifted his weight, opening his posture in a guise of comfort. "I had a moment of free time and thought I would indulge." 

 

            And an indulgence it was. Will was all too fascinating. In a mere three days he had proven himself a temptation difficult to resist, darkness seeping through the gaps between words and phrases as he traversed the twists and turns of The Dentist. Though he may not have been speaking of himself, one could not ignore the reflection of what must exist within. Hannibal wanted to get closer, to come as close as he could before it became too much of a risk. For now though, he would have to content himself with whatever he could get. 

 

            Case in point, he inclined his head to where the book had been. "My apologies for interrupting you." This was untrue of course. You couldn't interrupt someone lacking existence until you willed them into it. "If you don't mind my asking, what were you reading about before I did?"

 

            "It's, uh, just a book on fly fishing." A hand found its way to the curls at the base of his neck as he glanced down to the book in question. "You wouldn't find it interesting." Thinking back, he remembered Will briefly mentioning a hobby of fly fishing, crafting the lures himself if he was recalling it correctly. While it would be simple enough to check, that would require him to leave this section of his mind palace and was therefore unappealing.

 

            Hannibal shifted again, this time pressing closer until their thighs were touching. He bit down a smirk as his Will's eyes jumped over to the place where they met. "We cannot know for certain though, can we? Perhaps I would admire the intricacy."

 

            "No, I guess not." Biting his lip, Will seemed to consider it. This was highly amusing as Hannibal was controlling everything, but he had already grown accustomed to this Will's oddly less than predictable nature. Still, within a few more seconds he eased back and began speaking. Instantly the noise of the crowd fell away, the only sounds filling the air those of Will and music. 

 

            Had he been more curious he might've wondered what information his mind had conjured up for Will to say. As it was, Hannibal allowed the cadence of his voice to blend and the meaning of the words to fade. He too grew relaxed and let his eyes drift shut. The loss of one sense heightened the others, after all. He drank each one in, compared it to what he could expect from the real thing. 

 

            Once he'd had his fill of sound he turned his attention to those that remained. Though taste was irrelevant in this situation, he found that he had carried over the lingering aftertaste of the wine he'd been drinking. Next he focused on the areas where they were touching, feeling the press of a leg against his own, but noting that it was missing the accompanying heat. Finally he moved to scent. Again he was assaulted by a repugnant combination of dog and aftershave before picking out traces of what he actually wanted. The smell of the forest persisted, but was pushed aside in favor of the only one to remain. This was the scent he had been looking for, the one he had only encountered twice yet bottled up in his mind palace and maintained. The scent of Will Graham, a man who held as much potential to be a threat as he did a friend.

 

            A scent that had mingled with death so beautifully.

 

            As though sensing the abrupt shift in his mood, the music died in the midst of a swell. Will trailed off as Hannibal opened his eyes and turned to face him directly, eyes flitting nervously from place to place as he was suddenly subjected to a thorough examination, from his feet to the crown of curls on his head. That wouldn't do. 

 

            He reached out and gently grasped his chin, turning him his way. While he wasn't met with resistance to that end, those eyes continued to look away. It was yet another seemingly uncontrollable quirk his mental projection possessed, frustrating and enticing in equal measure on most occasions. But now he wanted them to look and to look in turn. He wanted him to _see_ , and as they say, the eyes are the windows to soul. "Will."

 

            At the command in his tone he froze like one recognizing a predator before prey. His eyes finally met his own.

 

            Hannibal wasn't entirely sure what he had been expecting, but he was aware of disappointment. There was something missing here, some unattainable quality that he could not create on his own. His mind knew that this was a fake and responded accordingly. Although the steely blue was beautiful, it lacked the depth of a true connection, the spark between two people that could only be found in the real world. Until he had shared such a moment with the original any further attempts would be undeniably pointless. 

 

            Sighing in defeat, he brushed a stray curl from his forehead and let him go. Will jerked back and the music and buzz of conversation returned. He simply sat there with a lost expression, like he had missed his line in their script. It was understandable. Hannibal had no way of knowing how the real Will would respond to forced eye contact, but he knew that it wouldn't be as calm as this. As a result he somehow felt the need to apologize. "I'm sorry, Will. That was considerably rude of me."

 

            The other tensed, then relaxed gradually. "I just... hadn't expected it. Please don't do it again." He picked up his unlabeled book and opened to the last page he'd read.

 

            Hannibal left him to it, standing and making his way through the crowd again. The idea of further conversation was unappealing at this point, at least, conversation with the Will in his head. As the people around him began to blur and disappear with every step, he thought back to the article Ms. Lounds had written. _Takes One to Know One._ Though the statement had been in regards to a different side of their relationship, they still rang true in the end.

 

            Now that he was by himself, he strolled through a darkened corridor, leaving the bright airport far behind him. The man wanted to be known. But why stop there? The monster wished to be known as well. Who doesn't want to be known by a friend? Hannibal might not have been alone, but he was familiar with loneliness. Those he surrounded himself with were distant to him. They might be friendly acquaintances, but they were not friends. His methods and motivations were things they could not hope to understand, seeing only horror where he presented artistry and finesse. But Will? Will, a man who carried the burden of unbearable empathy and peered into the hearts and minds of men like him all the same? He would understand. As for acceptance... Perhaps not, but that could be changed.

 

            Hannibal's surroundings had reformed themselves to match with the connections he had made. The corridor opened into a room up ahead, easily recognizable even before he'd finished stepping in. This was the basement with Aaron West all over again, but this time he wasn't the one wielding the scalpel. 

 

            Sanguine eyes lit up as he watched the metal smoothly glide through flesh, traveling up over the hand wrapped around it to the rolled up sleeves of a flannel before finally landing on a now familiar face. Will's brow was furrowed in concentration, a small frown etched onto his lips. He went through the same motions Hannibal had made, but without anything to block it blood had sprayed out into vague patterns that rested on his clothing and skin. The image of Will killing was a heady thing, stirring up some long forgotten feeling from within. He knew Will wasn't a killer and yet the thought of having a friend who shared his views in this aspect of his life was... _delicious_. Thrilling. But it paled in comparison to what he felt when his mind changed the scene.

 

            Will shifted to pick up the curved knife and caught sight of him in that moment. For a split second he froze. And then he smiled in a way that Hannibal had yet to see, something dangerous and maddening lurking in the curve of his lips that sent a cold burst of pleasure shivering down his spine. Moving to carefully hold the knife by the blade, he stretched out the handle in offering. "Hannibal?"

 

            That was all the invitation needed. When his hand grasped that handle he felt complete, even more so when they both continued working, weaving in and out like partners in a primal dance while hushed whimpers formed the rhythm to their routine. And when he lifted the heart from Aaron's chest, still struggling to beat, he made his own offering. He cupped it in his bloodied hands and gently pressed it into Will's, the look they exchanged rendering words unnecessary. This Will's eyes were dark as they stared into his, unwavering even as warm meat was brought to his lips and torn into by his teeth. Hannibal distantly knew his own pupils must have dilated while he watched the pale expanse of his throat constrict in swallowing. 

 

            A silent question was asked once Will had lowered his hands and licked away what little blood his tongue could reach. Hannibal nodded in answer and smiled at Will's bared teeth, the grin stained with red. His person suit, already frayed by then, began to fully unravel as the heart was lifted to his own lips. Playfully nipping at one of Will's fingers, he took a bite with glee.

 

            His eyes flew open at the sound of quiet knocking. For a brief moment he could still feel the meat, still taste the blood clinging to his teeth. But as his gaze settled on the door to his office, he was firmly resettled in reality. A glass of wine sat at his side just as it had before. It was finished, far more quickly than he would've liked, and then tucked away, giving him the time to compose himself properly. After his kindly psychiatrist persona had dropped into place he crossed the room. The door to his mind palace, and Will, closed while another opened.

 

            On the other side stood a mousy looking woman with a half startled appearance. Her hand, still hovering uselessly, fell to her side. "Uh, hello, Dr. Lecter. I'm, uh, sorry, if you were busy, or something..."

 

            "Not busy, Mrs. Kimble. Just lost track of time unfortunately. I'm sorry for not opening it sooner." He stepped to the side and gestured to the chairs, watching her shuffle in. "Please, have a seat." Once both had claimed their respective chairs he crossed his legs and smiled politely. "Now, how has your relationship with Mr. Kimble been?"

 

            This session and the others went by easily, most of the problems less complex than they seemed. Though he found each of his patients interesting in their own ways, today he couldn't seem to keep his thoughts from drifting. None of those he saw noticed but it continued to annoy him. He'd been given a glimpse of something he had never considered and now the possibility refused to leave him be. When his lunch break finally rolled around and he was alone once more he felt a temporary relief. A glance to his watch told him it was nearing eleven forty. On the opposite coast it would be morning.

 

            Sitting behind his desk, he set out his food, pate, a small loaf of sliced bread, and several slices of yellow squash and zucchini, and opened a drawer. Hannibal enforced a policy of turning your cell phone off before you set foot in this office and tried to maintain a similar policy for himself, leaving his in his desk to avoid distraction yet keeping it within hearing distance should a patient call with an emergency. Setting it on the table as well, he unlocked it and scrolled through his contacts, stopping on _Will Graham_. Scooping a small bit of pate onto his knife with one hand, he quickly typed out a message with the other. _Good morning, Will. Have things been going well?_

            The reply came a second later, sooner than expected. _As well as they can be, I guess. Just got up so not much happening yet._  

 

            He smiled at the simplistic response. Ordinarily he disliked texting and called whenever possible, but with Will the less personal approach put him more at ease. It made him more honest as well. Catching him just as he'd awoken was pleasing, the thought of him rubbing the sleep from his eyes softening his smile minutely. _I hope that you at least got a full night's rest._ He spread the pate on a thinner slice of bread, topping it with zucchini as he noted another message's arrival from the corner of his eye. Biting into the finished product, he read the newest text.

 

 _Not exactly. I woke up at my desk._  

 

            Frowning immediately, he was sure to express his disapproval. _Not exactly indeed. While your work is important, you should not let it run you ragged Will._ He was hit with a surprising amount of care. Will's sleeping habits were absolutely dreadful, and as an ex-physician the dark rings under his eyes were definitely a cause for concern. Lips still tilted down at the corners, he began preparing his next bite, using squash this time.

 

Another text came in before long. _About that, I can't talk long. Have to go soon. Sorry._

            Hannibal's chewing briefly slowed with disappointment. He had grown used to exchanging texts periodically throughout the day. Their conversations typically went on for longer and had somehow covered a vast array of subjects. These few little lines were simply not enough. Waiting until he had swallowed, he brushed off his fingers on his napkin and replied. _The Dentist again?_ This newest killer was an unneeded distraction. He still had every intention of sharing Aaron West's heart with Will, especially after the images he had seen earlier, but the meat would only keep for another two days at most. It would be a shame if they were unable to partake. Before he could consider it further his screen lit up again.

 

_I wish it wasn't. But I think it is. Gotta go, bye._

Hannibal slowly put the phone away, his frown reappearing as he did. This shortening of their time was unpleasant to say the least, but it was out of either of their hands. At the very least he could look forward to new information, perhaps even a break in the case. Again he considered the vast number of ways he could draw him back before it was solved and again he decided against it. For now there was nothing else to do but wait.

 

            All too soon his lunch break came to an end. He used the fifteen minutes prior to his next appointment preparing for it, packing away the containers that had stored his food and moving the chairs slightly further apart than normal. When he could avoid it no longer he checked the time. Twelve thirty exactly. With a quiet sigh, he headed for the door. He could hear enthusiastic knocking even as he was walking toward it. Turning the knob, he pulled it open and braced himself.

 

            Franklyn Froideveaux stood on the other side, beaming up at him. The style of his clothing was a travesty of his own annoyingly enough. "Doctor Lecter!"

 

            "Franklyn." He dipped his head before standing aside to let him in. Hannibal had to keep the disgust off his face when he was intentionally brushed in a none-too-subtle fashion. "You did not need to knock; I was going to open the door as I do for all of our appointments."

 

            Eagerly taking his seat, Frankly twisted to keep him in sight. "I know, I just got too excited I guess. It's always great to see you!" He stared with open admiration as Hannibal sat across from him, the puppy eyes enough to be unnerving even for him.

 

            "That is good to know. I am pleased to be a source of stability in your life." Crossing his legs at the ankle, he folded his hands in his lap and eased back into his seat. "What would you like to talk about this week?"

 

            Now he was practically radiating excitement, leaning forward energetically. "I've been trying some new things lately. Tobias and I went to an opera just yesterday. It was really great, so moving! Maybe _we_ could meet up at one, I mean, I've got tickets to another later this week!"

 

            Hannibal kept his expression neutral until he had finished, repressing the shudder that fought to move through him at the thought of attending such an event with Franklyn in tow. "Franklyn, we have been over this before. I am your psychiatrist, not your friend." He spoke slowly to emphasize the point.

 

            Across from him Franklyn pouted, his lower lip jutting out as though he were a child denied a toy. "Why can't you be both?"

 

            Because being both would require that they be friends in the first place, and there was only one person whose friendship he wished to gain at the moment. Briefly picturing Will in the opposite chair, he wondered if there _wasn't_ a way to be both. Could he somehow get him there, see him in a professional setting, and still maintain a personal relationship as well? He could admit that part of him was aching to dissect that brilliant mind and the resulting foothold in the FBI would be a nice bonus. But no, at this point that would likely place too much strain on their already tenuous friendship. He could not be both.

 

            Returning his attention to Franklyn, he decided to firmly address the matter at hand. He did _not_ wish to have this conversation again. "I am sorry, Franklyn, but my answer is still no. If you wish to pursue such a venue then I suggest you invite Tobias instead. Perhaps it could strengthen your relationship. Last time you had mentioned some troubles between the two of you, yes?"

 

            Sitting back again, he let Franklyn take the opportunity to pick up on his cue and begin rambling. He already knew that Tobias was not truly his friend, his picture of the man one of a dangerous psychopath far too careless with what he said. From there, however, things took a turn for the mundane, Franklyn's greatest passion being cheese for some reason. These sessions were some of the longest hours in his life, this one included. It was almost painful to try to find things worthy of note taking. He would have already spared himself this admittedly strange form of torment had their connection not been far too easy to trace, but none of his flesh would ever end up in his fridge. He couldn't imagine he would be very palatable.

 

            The hour finally ended, coming to a close just as Franklyn finished describing the texture of the Gouda he had purchased from an organic market. Standing fluidly, he watched his patient scramble to his feet. "It would appear that our time together has come to an end." Hannibal escorted him to the exit door, opening it and taking great pains to stand well out of his way. He ignored Franklyn's obvious dislike of his distance and what he would see as a missed opportunity. "I will see you next week. Have a pleasant evening." As the door swung closed he let himself sneer at the thought. The words had left a sour taste in his mouth.

 

            His next patient had canceled and he had let the time slot remain empty, planning to use the hour to himself to organize his notes or work on an unfinished sketch. He settled on the latter as he sat down at his desk, finding the drawing and moving it to a cleared space in front of him. Taking a moment to sharpen the tip of his pencil on a scalpel's blade, he began.

 

            About ten minutes had passed since he'd started sketching and he was thoroughly immersed. So when his phone rang from its place in his desk he couldn't help but feel a quick flash of displeasure. Setting his tools to either side of the page, he slid the drawer open and checked the ID. _Receiving a call from: Will Graham._ His irritation was forgotten immediately. In its place he felt a mixture of excitement and curiosity. Will always texted, never called. Perhaps he had solved the case prematurely. One way or another, there was bound to be a reason. His finger slid across the screen and he raised the phone to his ear. "Will?"

 

            "Hannibal. It's me." His mental projection immediately snapped into pace, mirroring the source of the voice as it stood on the opposite side of the desk. What he saw and heard was alarming to say the least. Will's voice was shaking and breathy, his counterpart trembling and breathing rapidly. He was instantly worried, hearing him struggle to breathe over the line. Suddenly the idea of Will needing to see him for therapy wasn't such a fanciful thing.

 

            "Will, I've noticed that you are breathing far too quickly. I would like to take you through a breathing exercise. Is that okay?" He kept his tone calm and soothing, the kind one uses for a skittish animal. Sadly, the metaphor seemed highly appropriate.

 

            The Will in front of him shifted his weight, eyes darting from place to place like they were afraid of what they might see. For several seconds the only sound to be heard was his shallow gasps, but a small voice finally gave him the answer he needed. "...Okay."

 

            He nodded though he knew it wouldn't be seen. "Thank you, Will. Now, please listen very carefully. I would like you to place one hand on your stomach." His Will complied without hesitation. He could only hope that the other did the same. "Once you have done this, take a deep breath in through your nose. You should feel movement beneath your hand, not in your chest. This is your diaphragm expanding." Listening to the gradual shift from gasps to a form of panting, he gave him a few seconds to adjust. "Are you feeling any better?"

 

            The next exhale shook slightly, but his voice was much steadier this time around. "Yes, I am."

 

            "That is encouraging. However, there is another step I would like to take. Do you wish to try it?"

 

            A pause, then a soft noise of affirmation. "Yes."

 

            Hannibal leaned back in his chair, choosing the higher of two numbers for what he had in mind. "I am going to count to five. During this period you will inhale deeply as you have been. Then I will count to five again. This time you will exhale for those five beats. We will go through this exercise multiple times to regulate your breathing. Tell me when you are ready to begin."

 

            Will continued as he had been for roughly a minute before he spoke again. "I'm ready."

 

            "Good. Now, with me, one, two, three..." They went through the exercise once, twice, thrice, until Hannibal thought he sounded right. He stopped counting and was pleased to hear the even breaths continuing on their own. Now that he had calmed him slightly he thought he might be prepared to talk. "Will, are you alright? Can you tell me what has you in this state?"

 

            Over the line Will sucked in a sharper breath than the one before it. It exited in something nearing a hiss. "I-I'm fine now. Probably. I was right earlier, The Dentist left another scene. I had to leave this morning to profile it."

 

            "And what was it about this one that made it particularly upsetting?" Hannibal could sense his reluctance to continue, but he needed to coax it out of him. There was no way for him to help if he was unaware of what he should be helping with.

 

            "He made a mistake." The time between inhalations shortened again. "This couple was babysitting. He didn't know, he didn't think there would be-" Will swallowed dryly, his throat making a harsh click. "He killed a child, a little boy, and he's feeling so much sadness, so much _regret_. It was too much. It _is_ too much. I'm caught in his emotions and I, I ended up calling you and-" He cut himself off with a burst of self depreciating laughter, his double tugging on his hair. "Oh god, why did I call you? I'm just a stranger who stole your bag. We've 'known' each other for three days! You're a shrink. You probably think I'm _crazy_." He spoke faster and faster as he went along.

 

            Hannibal's frown deepened with every word. "Will-"

 

            He was completely ignored. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm probably interrupting your work. I'll just... leave you alone now."

 

            " _Will_."

 

            The command lead to silence and stopped any objections. He knew from the quiet sound of breathing that Will hadn't ended the call. In response he softened his words, trying to keep him on the line. "I do not think you are crazy, but I do think you are distraught. We are on a different time schedule and here it is early afternoon. I've had a cancelation, so I have time to talk." Pausing, he gave him a chance to interject. When none came he moved on. "You said that you were caught in his emotions. What did you mean by that?"

 

            Leaves crunched loudly in the background. Will must have been standing outside then. His projection was suddenly wearing a jacket, small puffs of white exiting his lips. Abandoning his curls, he tucked his hands into the pockets and shifted his weight. "...You already know about my empathy, right?"

 

            Leaning back in his chair, he made a quiet noise of confirmation. "I believe it has been mentioned, yes. You examine the crime scene and can read the killer's thoughts and emotions."

 

            A short bark of a laugh, empty of amusement. "Sort of. I mean, that's an accurate assessment, a little bare-bones, but you aren't wrong. There's... more to it, though." Licking his lips, he drifted over to one of the chairs, running a palm over the top of its back. "I don't just read a crime scene, I reconstruct it. The evidence is already there. All I have to do is take apart the pieces and put them back together again. But this time..." The chair had lost his interest and he headed for a nearby wall instead. Blue eyes took in the decor without seeing anything. "The one who left those pieces is me."

 

            Hannibal watched an intangible hand lightly stroke the antlers of a black stag statuette, his picture of Will's empathy growing clearer by the second. "So you are not observing, you are creating. You commit the crime yourself." If Will had noticed his awe he didn't comment. 

 

            "Yes. When I reconstruct a scene I don't just _feel_ the killer, I become them. I can see why they did it, how they did it, and if they're going to do it again. Their emotions, they, they flow into me. Most of the time I can keep us separate, but sometimes they're too strong or they feel too much and I just... _can't_." He had to choke out the last word as though his throat was closing up. Frustration and fear battled in his tone. Hannibal couldn't tell which would've won normally, but in this case the latter was undoubtedly in control. 

 

            "And this time The Dentist was so _angry_. He destroyed everything in the house. They didn't deserve to have it, but he didn't deserve it either, not after what he'd done. What they'd made him have to do. He's already killed them, but he wishes he hadn't." With the change in tense he dropped into a low murmur, clearly being swept up again. "He wishes they were still alive so he could make them suffer, so he could kill them more violently than he did. He wants to make them feel the way _he_ feels. It's his parents all over again, gone before he could take his revenge. It isn't fair! They get away with it while he's stuck dealing with the mess they left-"

 

            "It is certainly unfair for him." Hannibal considered cutting in rude, but in this case it was necessary to free Will from whatever had taken hold of him. The best way to do this was to emphasize their distance, forcing him to look from an outsider's perspective. "If The Dentist feels this way, then what do you think he will do next?"

 

            The air left him in a quiet _whoosh_ , almost like a deflating balloon. "Can't say for sure yet." His Will ran a hand over his face before coming back over to him. "...Sorry. I can get sucked into the killer's thoughts if I'm not careful." Propping himself against the front of his desk, he covered his mouth with a hand. When he spoke his words were muffled by his palm, so soft that he could've been whispering. "...Sometimes I feel like I _am_ the killer."

 

           A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine, similar to the one thoughts of Will killing had lead to mere hours ago. This was... _perfect_. Earlier he had dared to hope, but now he knew that Will could understand him, all of him, completely. And not only that, but he _would_ accept. He would be unable to help himself. The darkness already lurked inside of him, fed on the malice of others until now. It just needed a guiding hand to bring it out, to shape it and mold it into its full potential. And Hannibal was more than willing to help. He already wished to become friends and suspected the feeling was mutual to some degree. They would grow close, and then he would slowly carve him into his true self, like carving a statue from a block of marble. He could see the creature within, now he just had to set it free. As for what kind of creature it would be, he could only wait to find out.

 

            Bracing himself on his elbows, he admired his projection once more. While this topic of conversation was engaging for him, he now understood that Will had called him in order to escape it and could oblige him with ease. "....Are you familiar with the concept of a mind palace?"

 

            Caught off guard, he glanced over curiously. "...Only vaguely. It's a form of visual memorization. Associating memories with objects or places, right?"

 

            "Correct. First used by the Romans, it allows one to access memories with greater ease while also preserving their clarity. There is no limit to stored information and they can be of any size, some preferring to use a simple layout of a small building while others use vast, sprawling cities. My own mind palace falls on the larger end of the scale."

 

            "What do you use it for?" Will's voice and posture had grown relaxed, his shoulders slumped where they had been tensed. This was good. He would be needing that receptiveness in a moment.

 

            "I find that it has many uses beyond simple memorization and organizing said memories. If done properly it is possible to create a mental refuge, a place of escape that one may carry with them anywhere they go."

 

            "...And you want to help me create one of my own." His Will was frowning, but he sounded more thoughtful than anything as he mulled it over. "Wouldn't that take too long?"

 

            Smiling, he found himself appreciating the speed with which Will had made the connection. "In ordinary circumstances, yes. But I am proposing that you create a single point, a room, if you will, rather than attempt to build an entire palace. If you are not interested I will understand."

 

            There was a short silence in which he could hear only the faint sound of Will taking a deep breath. "Alright. I'll try it."

 

            It had been expected, but it was still nice to hear. "Excellent."

 

            "So, uh, how do we do this exactly?" Will scratched his chin, eyes scanning the office a little closer than they had before.

 

            "Naturally we are going to start with a memory. Close your eyes." A brow was arched, but the direction was followed. "Now, focus on my voice. I want you to sift through your emotions. Imagine that all negative emotions are heavy things. They are the weight you feel on your shoulders, on your chest. Every time you come across one, throw it away. Let it slip from your grasp and sink into nothingness, let it fall and fall until you can no longer feel its presence. Imagine that with every one you drop you are growing lighter, and they too are becoming light the further you go along. When you cannot feel any pressure, let me know."

 

            It took Will several minutes, but eventually he managed a murmur. "I think I'm done." He was almost disbelieving. It made Hannibal wonder if he had tried and failed with similar things before. Whether he had or hadn't didn't matter though. Hannibal was determined to help him construct a sanctuary, carving it out amongst all of his forts and fears.

 

            "At this point you should be feeling calm. Your breaths should come easily and your muscles should relax. You are unburdened; there are no responsibilities or expectations. There is no one here but you and me. Now I will ask that you go back. Go back through your mind and look for a time when you felt the same way. Do not linger on unpleasant moments, and do not stop for anything less than what you are currently feeling."

 

            "I think I've found it."

 

            Surprisingly fast, but pleasing all the same. He softened his voice accordingly. "Where are you now, Will? Describe it to me."

 

            "I'm standing in a stream near my house, fly fishing." He could hear his smile through the phone. "The dogs are on the shore, playing or watching me or both. It's nice out, probably spring. The water's a little fast today, but that's alright. I'm not really planning to catch anything. Still, I'll be ready if I do."

 

            Remembering that morning's excursion into his own mind palace, he grew curious. "Tell me, what is it like to fly fish?"

 

            "Cold." His Will was grinning, eyes still closed. "You have to wear waders and stand out there for a long time. But it's meditative, peaceful. You're alone with your thoughts and the outdoors, I guess. When you think of your problems they seem... distant. Everything is focused on the fish, the line, and the lure."

 

            "And what do you use for the lure?"

 

            "Depends on what you're trying to catch. I usually make my own."

 

            From there the conversation trailed off, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. Hannibal gave him a few minutes to himself, figuring that he needed them. But eventually he had to draw him back out. "Will."

 

            "Hmm?"

 

            "How are you feeling now?"

 

            "I feel..." He frowned, and Hannibal could picture him casting out a line. "Cleaner. The water's washed it all away somehow."

 

            "Good. Please take a moment to remember that feeling, and match it to the place around you. Focus on a specific sensation or item. Do you have one in mind?"

 

            "Yes."

 

            "From now on, if you wish to return to this place, to this feeling, think of what you have chosen just now. It will guide you to your stream as I have done. Unfortunately, the time has come for you to leave. Let your surroundings fade to white, slowly, slowly... Then, tell me when everything is gone."

 

            "...It's gone."

 

            "Open your eyes." Blue eyes fluttered open, blinking at what they saw. "Feeling better?"

 

            "Yeah, I am." Again he seemed surprised, as though this hadn't been his expected outcome. "Thank you, Hannibal."

 

            He could detect true gratitude. Smiling, he shifted in his seat. "You are welcome, Will. I am glad you called." And he was. That Hannibal was the one he had thought of and went to first said a great deal about the level of trust Will had already placed in him. He would encourage it and allow it to grow. After all, it would make things so much easier in the end. "Are you going to be alright now?"

 

            "Should be." Coughing into his fist, he wore a delicate blush. "Sorry again."

 

            "And again, it is fine. Please do not hesitate to contact me should a similar situation arise. If that doesn't appeal to you, you also have your stream." He knew that every time Will went to it he would be unable to avoid thinking of him. Hannibal would be associated with a sense of calm and safety given enough time. Perfect.

 

            "Hopefully I won't need it anymore for The Dentist. We've already narrowed down the list a lot more than we had before, but with him this upset he won't go into work today, maybe not even tomorrow. That should only leave maybe one or two people when combined with our profile. He'll probably be caught in a few days."

 

            "That is wonderful news. Congratulations in advance, and good luck in your search."

 

            "Thank you. Goodbye, Hannibal."

 

            "Goodbye, and have a nice evening."

 

            The call disconnected with a quiet click. In the same instant his projection disappeared, slipping back into one of the many rooms of his mind palace no doubt. Hannibal put his phone back into the open drawer and closed it gently, contemplating all of the new information he had learned today. Things had gone so beautifully and they hadn't even been arranged. A strange warmth had taken residence in his chest at some point during their conversation and had yet to fade. Will would be returning soon, with any luck in time for them to share Aaron's heart. He had shared his kills before, largely as a source of entertainment, but this time it would hold a different meaning. Rather than feeding a pig to its own, he would nourish a fellow predator. From his side at the dining room table, he would witness the first step of Will's becoming.

 

            There would be many more to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While the breathing exercise(s?) were legit, the ones about the mind palace were not. I've never built a mind palace before and I probably did it wrong. The other information about them should be accurate though. They're also referred to as method of loci or a Roman Room. Pretty neat.
> 
> In case it wasn't noticed, I've decided that this'll have nine chapters and then either end or split off into a second part. Not really sure which yet. It'll depend on how the ending is received. 
> 
> I am so off track on bag swapping that it's not even funny. Never let me write AUs like this again.

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](http://visceralviscaria.tumblr.com/). I am sorry for everything ever.


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